


The One With The On-Screen Boyfriend

by brokenstereotype



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst, Coffee Dependency, Fluff, M/M, Smut, The Lilo Kiss That May Or May Not Have Happened (It Did), Ziall v. Zoah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6382102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenstereotype/pseuds/brokenstereotype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik plays the star role of Zander Phelps on the hit television drama show, Bradford Heights. When newcomer, Niall Horan is cast to be Zander's new love interest, things take an interesting turn for Zayn. It might not be the worst thing to happen.</p><p>An on-screen boyfriends AU that contains as much drama as there is sweet gay loving. Featuring in-love-but-nonhalant-about-our-feelings Liam/Louis and Harry as the chef roommate that is Zayn's biggest fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The On-Screen Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my contribution to the Big Bang: Round Four. I had such a great time participating in this and i would like to thank the mods for setting this up so wonderfully.
> 
> [ @theroadverytravelled](http://theroadverytravelled.tumblr.com) made a lovely opening credits video [here.](https://youtu.be/5A9yc-ZGHWw)
> 
> Nothing in this fic has actually happened, well, besides the lilo kiss of course..

_Season Two, Episode 1: The Lone Wolf_

Zayn wakes up late the first morning of shooting for the second season of the critically-acclaimed, hit new teen drama, Bradford Heights.

He should have been pulling into the studio parking lot three minutes ago to pick up his first script of the season, but instead, he's struggling to break free from his bed, dashing into the bathroom with shifty eyes - mind not quite catching up to his legs yet.

There's sixteen messages on his phone, all from Louis, sent in five minute intervals about nothing of importance, most likely just to keep Zayn's phone buzzing and alive.

A small patch of dried saliva rests just at the corner of his mouth. His hair is in a right state; half plastered to his forehead, the other half groomed back as if he'd lain in a pile of grease.

With no time for a proper shower, a quick wash down from the sink and dribbles of toothpaste splattering around the tiled floor as he hops around on unbalanced legs, trying to tug on the first pair of jeans he finds on the bathroom floor. HIs shirt has water spots down the front, but he's sure that there's at least a hoodie left behind in his trailer from the last time he was on set - four and a half beautiful months ago.

He can hear the sound of a shower running somewhere on the floor above, as he's brushing his hair into something presentable. It makes him feel a little less stressed knowing that he's not the only one running behind schedule.

They live together in an apartment complex not too far from the studio, all of the regulars on the show housed in single bedroom flats, separated by thin white walls and floors that creak if you put all of your weight on them. It's nice though, the closeness not unwelcomed since most of them are fresh faced twenty year olds, thousands of miles of land and water away from their families back in the UK.

It only takes maybe twenty steps to get from the bedroom to the bathroom - the bathroom to the kitchen, convenient in a way that he can slide his feet into a pair of worn out sneakers as he shovels his car keys, lot badge, and some spare change off of the counter and cupped into his palm.

It's as he's pulling the door closed, shoelaces untied and I.D card clenched tightly between his teeth - that he sees the pink sticky note slapped onto the wood, Louis' messy scrawl in sharpie that's bled through the thin paper and has left black splotches on the door, right next to the number indicating apartment 7D.

_GO WOLVES_

Zayn shakes his head at the message, can see a line of similar pink notes on the doors of the neighboring apartments down this hall. Instead of leaving the note on the door like all the others have done, he folds it in half and slides it into his back pocket as he descends the stairs in quick steps.

The frigid cold air is not a surprise this early in the morning, but that doesn't mean it isn't unwelcomed. There's small patches of ice at the bottom of the steps, frozen rainfall from the other day's drizzle. Chicago’s weather has been unforgiving to him this year, but he’s become accustomed to packing an extra pair of gloves in the glove department of his car.

He kicks on the heat as soon as he's encased in his small car; a gift from his parents once he'd gotten that phone call from the director of the show saying he landed the role.

The windshield has acquired frost around the edges, tiny little snowflakes spouting off of each other in a kaleidoscope pattern. As the temperature in the car thaws out, Zayn thinks of his family. He wonders how they're doing and if they miss him.

Turning on the radio to a low setting, he pushes those thoughts to a reserved part of his mind and focuses on something less depressing - coffee.

Thankfully, the studio lot is only a short ten minute drive, and at this early hour, there's no more than three other cars making their travels on the wet roads.

The parking lot is full when he pulls in, one reserved spot left empty. Other cast members and stage designers linger about the lot, most already dressed in their assigned outfits, chatting happily to the ones they haven't seen since the last shoot.

He doesn't have time to stop off by his trailer like he usually does; taking a moment to collect himself before transferring into a life that is the complete opposite of his own. He's missed it, though.

Playing the role of Zander Phelps; loved-by-all lacrosse captain, former boyfriend of head cheerleader, (student council president, most beautiful girl to grace the halls of Bradford, also the richest.) Meg Jackson, as well as being the newly favorited character on the show in response to the huge blind side that had been dropped the last episode of the first season - it's what he was born to do.

A few of the other cast members greet him with much enthusiasm as he makes his trek through the courtyard, eyes trained on where his next footing should go as to not slip on a patch of black ice or accidentally submerge his entire boot in a hidden puddle of melted snow.

He tips his head slightly in response, wondering idly how they could be so cheery at this ungodly hour. Even the birds aren't awake at this time.

The large space that provides for scenes during lunch time is also where the workers sit at to eat their breakfast when the weather is bearable, or for some of them who are still enrolled in school, a quiet place to do course work.

He's walking by one of the round tables, when a figure to his right startles into an upright position, crumbs of a blueberry muffin dusted across his well defined jaw line. If Zayn thinks he's getting passed the boy who possesses laser-like reflexes, he knows he's mistaken.

"Zayn! Have you got your script yet?" Louis nearly shrieks, as if they aren't just a few feet apart. He trips his way out of the bench, brushing his crumbly fingers off on his jeans, before remembering that he's most definitely not supposed to do that, and looks around sheepishly before shrugging it off.

"I've just gotten here, Lou. Need coffee before being productive." He explains, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the jittery set to his friend's limbs, two seconds away from bouncing on his toes.

"Ah, right. Marv needs you on set in fifteen." Louis informs with a mock sympathetic frown. He's a firework short of blasting off into the night sky on the fourth of July, the buzz of being back at work too much for his camera deprived self to handle properly.

He'd been ready for the break, of finally getting to see his sisters and mum without the amplified static accompanied with video chatting from separate countries. Once the fatigue wore off and boredom set in, he had practically clawed his way through Zayn's apartment door in a desperate attempt at human interaction.

Zayn thoroughly enjoyed the break. It was enough time for him to remember what it was like to be well rested, to finally unpack his apartment the way he'd wanted to since the keys had been dropped into his hand. It was a time of peace and quiet for him, to call his mum up whenever he was feeling especially lonely, or to curl up in his lone recliner in the corner of the bedroom with a book that smells of stories and pages that sound like heaven to his ears.

"I've gotta get to hair and makeup, but I'm sure we'll be seeing each other on set." He assumes, since there's rarely a scene where the two of them are not pressed shoulder to shoulder, matching blue varsity jackets pinning them at the top of the social ladder.

Louis smiles, a slow one that forms into something secretive and all-knowing.

"Yeah," He drags it out, eyes following a target somewhere behind Zayn's shoulder. "Hey, have fun today. New season, fresh start - and all that." He says cryptically. It's off-handed, distant in a way that Zayn knows what, or rather whom, has captured all of Louis' attention.

Zayn rolls his eyes, but it's void of any actual annoyance, rather just amused. He's known Louis for a little over two years; when they'd gotten their call back times and ended up sitting next to each other wide eyed in the waiting room with sweaty palms and hopeful hearts, and he's only known one person who could make the otherwise brash boy go completely jelly at the knees.

Liam is a very fit, very respective cameraman in his early twenties who brings Louis world's away from his comfort zone, and makes him drool a little when he comes out of the studio with toned arms glistening in sweat.

"I'll uh - I'll see you later, mate." Louis says without looking at him, giving him a weak pat on the shoulder, and then he's walking briskly over to where the young cameraman is talking to a sound tech with a thermal in one hand, the other shoved deep in the front pocket of his jeans.

Zayn watches as Louis creeps up behind him, devilish smile caught between his teeth. He crouches, as if he isn't already small and compact, and when he gets close enough, he jumps, covering both of Liam's eyes with his small hands. Liam doesn't even seem deterred by the sudden interruption, just clutches at Louis' fingers with his hand, sliding them down from blocking his view, down to rest comfortably against his chest in a gentle hold.

Louis has to stand on the tips of his toes to hook his chin over Liam's shoulder, but the all-face-consuming smile reveals that he's gotten exactly what he wanted.

Zayn swallows down the lump in his throat and turns away from the scene, not bitter enough to cast bad vibes on their picture perfect moment.

He's walking towards the studio entrance, mind someplace else, thousands of miles away, when a frustrated grunt sounds from the right. There's not a lot of people lingering around outside, but there is a boy smacking his open palm against the glass of the vending machine that houses gummy treats and sweet candies.

The boy looks rather disgruntled, muttering curses under his breath as he shakes the machine with more force than is probably allowed. Zayn takes a quick look back inside of the studio, but no one seems to be paying any mind to anything other than their tasks at hand, so Zayn promptly takes a step back further into the crisp air, nose cold and toes numb.

Really, he should be getting to the makeup department since it takes a good fifteen minutes to fully transition into that of Zander. But, he remembers his first day on set, how completely lost he felt in this too big of a city, so out of place with these bright lights and smiling faces.

“Uhm,” He says by way of announcing his presence.

The boy jerks his hand back as if he’d been caught smoking a cigarette in the schools bathroom, jerking his head around and staring at him with wide-caught-off-guard-impossibly-blue-eyes.

He continues to stare at Zayn as he moves to the side of the vending machine, mess of cigarette butts and jolly rancher wrappers tossed unto the dirty snow.

“You gotta - uh, just,” He mumbles quietly, too quiet for the boy to actually make sense of his sounds, and thumps his fist against the side of the machine, right between the eyes of the marshmallow mascot for Traders Goods Inc. The bag of crisps that the boy was evidently trying for falls from where it had been stuck, landing with a plop at the opening.

When he blinks his eyes and looks up, the boy is watching him with awed - slightly suspicious eyes. It feels like a test, one that Zayn is most certainly not prepared for.

“Were you there the whole time?” The boys asks, assessing him as if he’d asked the sky for help, and thus delivered it to him in the form of Zayn.

“Uhm, no.” Zayn says. “Jus’ looked like you could use some help.”

The boy leans down to retrieve his snack, and then to his belongings left to rest on the ground. He's got a brown paper lunch bag tucked under his arm, a folder with diamonds printed on the front. The pencil that rolls out of the folder gets tucked behind his ear, and he smiles easily at Zayn.

"Well, cheers to that mate. I really appreciate it." He says kindly. There's a lull in the conversation, where Zayn is nodding his head slowly like a bobble head doll, and the boy just smiles at him. It's a bit overwhelming for Zayn, to be quite frank.

He nods his head down in the vague direction of the lunch bag now held loosely by the boy's side, a hidden name written in neat cursive, giant bolded heart colored in over the i.

"My mum used to pack my lunches when i first started working here." He says, smiling shyly at the boy so he doesn't feel like he's making fun of him. The boy's face twists into that of confusion, though his smile doesn't falter.

Zayn points to the bag held by his fingers, and the boy follows his direction.

"Oh." He says, blush rising to his cheeks, stuttered laugh slipping passed his lips, like he's embarrassed. His fingers tighten their grip on the bag, ready to cause a tear in the crinkled brown paper.

"My roommate actually," He corrects. "Went a bit mother hen on me when i got the job working here. He's more like a housewife, now that i think about it." He laughs, loud and cut off between giggles. Zayn usually despises when people have obnoxious laughs, but he can't help but to smile along with the boy.

They begin walking towards the door absently, the boy talking while Zayn happily listens.

"He's on this health kick - disgusting if you ask me, but he had promised me a simple egg salad sandwich and a snack for lunch - so i agreed, obviously." He's struggling with the newly purchased bag of crisps, the folder clutched unsteady under his arm, and the lunch bag being crumpled between his right hand. Zayn holds the door open for him, watches as the boy tries to speak while juggling the items in his arms. Just before the folder slips out from under his arm, Zayn takes it into his hands, holding it until he can right himself and add the bag of crisps to his lunch bag.

He smiles gratefully at Zayn, taking the folder back slowly, like he doesn't want to spook him.

"The loon thought he could slip in some cucumber and that fake mayo shit, like i wouldn't notice." He scoffs, looking down at the paper bag as if it has offended his entire being.

Zayn doesn't tell him that egg salad with cucumber is one of his favorites.

They continue to walk together down the hallways, and when they come up on the bathrooms, the boy stops with a _huh_ that sounds rather displeased. When he sees the questionable expression on Zayn's face, he shakes his head with a flustered smile, cheeks brightening to the adorable pink once again.

"Was looking for the loo all morning - guess i'm more lost around the likes of this place than i had thought." He looks sheepish, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge around the studio. He's got this frown on his face, one that has Zayn itching to pull the corners of his mouth back up, bring back that smile that's bright enough to replace the artificial lighting in the studio.

"I could-," He starts. "I can give you a tour, like-" He's nervous, using his hands to try and gesticulate the words that won't come out. The boy, thankfully, doesn't prolong his word vomit any longer.

He claps a hand down on Zayn’s shoulder, light and comforting. Now he’s the one blushing, and the boy looks well pleased about it.

“I'm actually supposed to meet with the director in like," He frowns, sliding his cellphone out of the pocket of his khaki pants. "Well - now." He laughs nervously.

"Oh, right." Zayn realizes belatedly that he has tasks at hand. "I should go - uhm," He gestures vaguely in what he hopes transfers to _get my face and hair done._

The boy nods his head, but neither of them make a move to leave.

"Hey, uh." He says, making Zayn's head snap up in embarrassingly rapt attention. "I'd love a rain check on that tour, though."

Zayn is only half aware of the shouts for him coming from down the hall, instead he's more focused on not releasing the heart shaped butterflies throwing a party in his stomach.

He nods, keeping his smile tucked between his teeth. The boy beams at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. He's so pretty. He makes Zayn’s palms sweaty.

Before he can do something dramatic, like propose marriage, the boy is walking away. Zayn turns to watch him go, trying not to pout when he doesn't even chance a look back at him.

Zayn doesn't even care that he drags his feet the whole way to the hair and makeup room. He smiles weakly at Layla, the hair stylist, as he plops down in the chair.

He doesn't even know what department the boy works in. He could be an extra, maybe a passerby student in the hallways, or maybe he's a new member on the lacrosse team. Maybe he won't even be in any scenes with Zayn, and they will never see each other again.

He didn't even get the boys name.

What if they don't run into each other again? The boy didn't even say anything before walking away, no _see ya later_ or _I'll see you at lunch call_ \- nothing. No indication of when they might see each other again. Zayn scowls at himself in the mirror.

Thankfully, Layla makes quick work of his hair; a quiff held tight by half a can of hair spray. She applies some powder and blush to his cheeks, covering up the wind chill that pales his complexion.

He thanks her with a kiss to the cheek and a finger wave as he heads across the hall to the clothing department. A rack sits in the middle of the room, two hangers left occupied. He takes a minute to run his fingers along the fabric he's become accustomed to, the scratchy feel that had made him grit his teeth the first time he'd rubbed it between his fingers, but now feels like a sense of security.

He gets put into his usual attire of freshly pressed chinos, white t shirt, and the trademark blue varsity jacket with a red embroidered BH on the right breast that gets buttoned to the top. Today's choice of shoes is a pair of red trainers that are brand spanking new and shine in the light. The lacrosse stick that has become somewhat like that of a crutch to him is poking out of the backpack he's had since day one, rising like a flag of pride.

The idea of this new season of _Bradford Heights_ frightens Zayn a bit. Even though he had gotten amazing feedback from Zander's coming out, and also unanimously became America's favorite character, he wonders where he could go from here. It's such an honor to be a representative of the LGBTQ community, as well as a huge relief that neither him nor Zander have to hide their sexualities any longer.

He walks briskly down the hall, void of any single person, nothing but the rows of lockers looking down on him. He feels as if he's actually late for class, rather than for the first scene of the season. Zayn's so excited, and he hasn't even gotten his script yet.

There's a roar of cheers once he walks through the door, some coming from people he remembers doing a scene or two with, and some that he's sure he hasn't seen a day in his life. He throws his hand up in response, because even if he doesn't recall their names, this place makes you feel as if you know everyone. This place makes you feel like home, like you belong.

The director, Marv Grier; a short stocky man that has the lungs of a gorilla and the hairline of a newborn baby, stands off to the side, next to where Louis is taunting the young cameraman. Zayn goes to make his way over, but stops short, shoes squeaking against the floors, once he sees who exactly the director is talking to.

It's the boy.

Of course, Zayn remembers him mentioning something about meeting with the director, but he had assumed that the boy would be sent off to his work station long before Zayn had arrived.

He can see the clipboard of papers held in Marv's hand, most likely the scripts for all who have scenes today. He's talking to the boy, using his hands as if for clarification to what he is saying. The boy looks attentive, nodding his head along to every word the director says, eyes bright, visible even from where Zayn is standing at the entrance of the room.

Slowly making his way across the floor, he tries to go by unnoticed, maybe the boy will be finished by the time Zayn meets up with them, save himself from a very flustered conversation. His stomach is in knots at just the way the boy looks under the dim lighting, face watchful as he listens to whatever the director is explaining to him, arms crossed against his chest. Every so often, the boy will bring his fingers up to his mouth, and then tuck them snug under his armpit as if restraining himself.

Louis sees him first.

His eyes alight with something like excitement at the sight of his best friend, and he stops messing around with the cameras in favor of smirking at him, leaning his weight against the camera instead. Liam is behind the camera, working around Louis almost naturally.

He stops a few steps away from the pair, not wanting to interrupt their discussion. He throws Louis an unimpressed look, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at the air kiss blown his way.

When there’s a pause in the conversation, the director seems to sense Zayn’s presence, and turns to him with a relieved puff of breath. He claps his hands together, making the boy jump in surprise, and he as well turns to Zayn, though his face is far more pleasant to look at. He smiles as soon as he sees him, eyes taking a not so subtle sweep of his body. The boy nods to himself almost approvingly, eyes crinkling with his smile when he meets Zayn’s eyes.

“You look good,” He says. Zayn bites at his bottom lip to keep from giggling like a blushing schoolgirl, ducking his head bashfully with a quiet nod.

Usually, he can accept compliments with one of his half smiles, letting the comment roll off of his shoulders - and that’s that. This boy just makes him so inexplicably nervous; even if he had the words to respond, they would just be swallowed whole by the herd of butterflies residing in his intestines.

“Zayn, my boy. It’s good to see ya.” Marv says kindly, that same twinkle in his eye that is always present when Zayn is involved. He imagines it to be in the shape of dollar signs, if you were to look close enough.

“I wanted you to meet someone,” Marv says slowly, as if testing the waters. He studies him, until Zayn nods - a little confused. The director smiles, a small one that looks hesitant and sour.

“Excellent,” He cheers, taking a step back, so the three of them are aligned as a triangle rather than a crooked line. “Zayn, this is Niall Horan.”

Zayn meets the boy's eyes, and a wave of hopeful dread washes through him. _Niall Horan. Niall Horan who is freshly fallen snow and a laugh that could stop the world and patience in his eager eyes. Niall Horan who has someone to pack his lunches and send their love with drawn hearts over the i._

“Hello, uh - again.” He laughs, stopping it from escalating into a snort by tugging his lips between his fingers. The boy smiles, showing off his perfect teeth, and he responds with a cute little wave of his hand.

“You alright?” He says in a low tone, as if it wasn’t meant for anybody else’s ears but Zayn’s. Something akin to warm cider drips in the pit of his stomach, dragging his feet a step closer towards the boy. He nods, hoping that the boy doesn’t get offended with his short responses.

“Oh,” Marv pipes up. “You two’ve already met? Brilliant.” He says, pleased smile on his face. He shifts the clipboard in his hands and flips through the pile of papers, sliding a packet out from the bottom and passing it over to Zayn.

In a rush, the director says, without looking at Zayn, “Niall is your on-screen boyfriend.” Like he had prepared how to tell him without seeing his reaction.

“Here’s your script and schedule, i need you to learn those lines while i show Niall where the makeup room is.” He directs. Zayn doesn’t have any time to react to the news, barely has time to blink his eyes out of their twitching, before the director is pulling the boy - Niall, along to the hallway.

Before they make it to the door, where Zayn is staring at dumbfounded, Niall turns, face twisted into a look of worry. He smiles weakly at Zayn, and then he's out of sight, following after the director.

When he blinks his eyes back to the script in his hands, Louis is stood before him, taking Zayn in with barely contained excitement, though also apprehension at the look of pure dread on his face.

“I can’t be his on-screen boyfriend,” Zayn says, a pleading tone to his voice. Just the words alone make his skin prickle with goose bumps, a knot the size of an elephant lounging in his stomach.

“And why not?” Louis asks, offended. It’s as if Zayn has rejected him and it throws him off his stance, taking a step back to assess Louis more carefully.

“Because-,” He starts, and then stops. He hasn't actually got a good reason for not wanting the boy as his on-screen companion, other than the fact that he is everything that Zayn wants.

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, two seconds away from tapping his foot impatiently.

Zayn sighs, defeated.

“I can’t date him on-screen, because - you know,” He stalls, heart having a wicked chokehold on his throat. Louis’ smile spreads slowly, like he’s the mouse in the apartment and Zayn is a can of spilled cheese spray.

“Zayn Malik, are you telling me that you have an actual _crush_ \- on a _live_ human being?” He gasps obnoxiously, hand to his heart as if he had never been more proud.

“Shove off, tosser.” He’s smiling despite the unamused tone to his voice, the thought of putting his interests into another person thrills and terrifies him all the same.

“It wouldn’t matter anyways,” He dejects, staring down at the papers in his hands. “He’s here to be Zander’s boyfriend, not mine.”

Louis looks proper pissed by his words, hand coming to a defensive state on his cocked hip.

“And why can't he be both?” He asks, as if it were that simple. Again, Zayn doesn't have a good enough reason, besides the embarrassing fact that he can't do more than blush around the blond boy.

“Come on, Zayn. He’s exactly your type, _and he's Irish_!” Louis mock whispers, eyes alight with giddy anticipation.

“What does that have anything-,” He starts to get defensive, he does have some dignity for himself, thank you. But then, he knows that Louis couldn't have possibly had enough time to chat with the blond, enough to deduce that he’s _exactly his type_. Louis also has a perfect track record of meddling in people’s personal lives - especially Zayn’s.

“Did you set me up?” He asks, tone accusing. A little voice in the back of his mind - the more sensible part of his brain, and frankly more annoying, tells him that he should be thanking Louis. The blond-blue-eyed-irish-beauty named Niall Horan _is_ his type, perfect fit if you asked him. Zayn shushes the voice with reminders of being woken up deep in the night to the sounds of a very plastered Louis singing off-key renditions to the entirety of the _Grease Soundtrack_.

“It's not the worst thing, Z. You and Zander both deserve to love - plus, Niall is _fun_ , and _pretty_ , and he can talk exactly like _Al Pacino_ , Zayn!” Louis is full out whining, close to sulking with a pouted lip.

Louis’ eyes cut to the door, where Marv strides in, calling for the required actors and actresses to start making their way to the hallway for the opening scene.

“Well, Marv seems to have a soft spot for him, and unless you and Zander can't learn to share, he's not going anywhere.” Louis states firmly.

Zayn would feel bad that he's ruined Louis’ happiness for the arrival of their new co-worker, if it wasn't for the fact that he absolutely loathes surprises and this one has him knocked off his feet.

Louis walks off without another word, strutting his way out of the room, head held high like the drama queen he is. At least he's got the bum to back it up.

Zayn goes to where he is meant to be; just outside of the entrance doors, awaiting queue from the director to begin. One of the assistant's hands him his trusty backpack, and he slides one of the straps over his shoulder. He skims through the script, getting the vague idea of what he’s meant to say and do. Him and Louis had discussed over the break how The reunion between the two best friends should go, a little tension before The fire turns to light again.

The second page, though, is very cryptic and only says to be determined...

“ _Scene one, take one_.” Zayn hears vaguely, through the glass of the doors. “ _Action_!”

The first scene has Zander entering the chatter-filled hallways of Bradford Heights, nervous eyes taking in the students about, every shift feeling as if it's a tap to his shoulder, informing him of the hushed comments and rumors flying around about him.

It’s not real, of course. Nobody really seems to give a shit that their star captain came out as homosexual in the middle of the full cafeteria during lunch hour; after he had discovered that his supposed best friend knocked up his girlfriend while they were still together as a couple.

The relationship was fake, obviously. It still left a burning rage deep in Zander’s bones when it was announced that his girlfriend of the better part of a year was pregnant, when they had never shared anything more between them than a few chaste kisses.

Zander keeps his head down as he shoulders his way to his locker, clutching the strap of his backpack between tense fingers. He keeps his eyes on the dial lock, opening it with ease and stares blankly into the empty locker.

“ _Deep thought, Zander - think of being alone in a crowded room, your best friend betraying you in the worst way._ ” Marv directs, tone calming and even, not wanting to break concentration.

By now, he’s done this enough times to block out the cameras, his entire mind set morphed into that of Zander’s. There’s a sticker on his locker door, _Home of the Bradford Wolves,_ faded and ripped from when he gets bored in between takes and picks at it with his fingernail.

He does as Marv says and revs his emotions into the negatives, Zander’s exhaustion and depression hitting him full force after months of being kept away. He counts off in his head slowly, wanting to ensure that Liam captures his longing stare.

“Cue, Louis” Marv announces, hands folded neatly in his lap where he’s sat at the edge of his directors chair. Liam’s behind the camera, concentrated furrow in his eyebrows, eyes trained on the screen. He kind of looks like he's pouting, but it's just the young plump lips of his that make him all the more endearing. Zayn would laugh if he weren’t Zander right now.

“Find a rainbow in there, perhaps?” He turns to see his best friend of thirteen years - Tristen Tate, stood next to him, letting out a nervous laugh as Zander takes him in with cold eyes.

“Don’t you have a pregnant cheerleader to take care of?” He says in a bored tone, flexing his fingers on the strap of his bag.

“ _Camera zoom on Tristen_ ,” Marv directs to Liam, watching the scene unfold with pursed lips.

“Zander,” Tristen starts, risking a touch to his shoulder. He flinches away as if it were a punch and turns back to his lifeless locker. He's thinking about that coffee he never had time to get, adding fuel to his annoyance, when Tristen's voice drops to a wounded tone.

“I know my word doesn't mean anything to you right now, but I am truly sorry.” Tristen says, hurt lacing his voice. Zander cuts through with a clap of laughter, sharp and lethal. Marv’s eyebrows rise like a high striker, surprised but pleased.

“Sorry that you had sex with my girlfriend behind my back, or that you’re going to raise a baby with her?” His words are harsh, punctuated with the slam of his locker door. He turns his body fully towards his former best friend, stretching his muscles so that he towers over him.

“No offense _mate_ , but it's not like you were going to have sex with her.” Tristen says, like it's just a known fact, rather than a mockery of his entire being.

“ _Get mad, Zander_.” Marv directs in a hard voice, matching the tone of the situation.

“That's not the point!” He says in a clipped, hard tone. He hears Marv tell Liam to get closer, capture the emotion in their faces, the hurt curling their lips. Marv has them hold the silence until it's loaded, and then waves them on with a flick of his fingers and a nod from Liam.

Tristen sighs and shakes his head dejectedly.

“The fact that _your_ girlfriend came to _me_ when you were too busy lying to yourself and everyone around you, crying her eyes out dry because she couldn’t understand why _perfect_ Zander Phelps can't love her back,” He scoffs in disgust.

“I used to look up to you.” He says, disappointed. Zander watches him with wide eyes, and he can feel the hurt piercing his heart with every word Tristen utters.

There's a connection between them that mimics one of lifelong friends or siblings even. Zayn and Louis are always making up stories about Zander and Tristen’s childhood adventures together, finding that it adds to the emotion they put into their lines.

“ _Cocky, Tristen. Give me superior jock who is tired of being second best_.” Marv conducts, the advice simple yet effective.

“Now,” Tristen laughs mockingly. “Now, all I see is a scared _boy_ who could never love another person as much as himself.”

Tristen walks off, as if he is nothing but a bug to be squashed, and Zander watches after him, until the director yells, “ _Cut! That was good, boys, we’ll do that one more time._ ”

Zayn deflates, shoulders sagging in early fatigue. Louis comes over to him, rubbing at his forehead as if an impending headache is making an appearance.

“Alright?” Louis asks. They do this, making sure the other is okay when they have a particularly heated scene together, feeling the hurt long after their jackets have been hung up for the day.

Zayn nods tiredly, asking the same of Louis. When he says that all is well, Zayn sags against the locker behind him. They reset the scene, going through the motions with just as much, if not more, intensity now that their characters have awoken from their long naps at the back of their minds.

“ _Cut scene to Louis and Perrie in the science lab - someone please pump up her pregnancy pillow for the love of all things holy!_ ” Marv calls out as he goes to fuss at the extras.

Zayn hangs back while they do the next scene; Tristen and Meg discussing the future of their baby, as well as their relationship. It always fascinates him how well Tristen and Meg click, in a way that her and Zander never could. It seems natural to them, and Zayn knows that it won't be long before Zander forgives Tristen.

Once they have ran through the take four times, having to keep adjusting Meg’s baby bump, Marv deems it worthy enough and dismisses the extras sat around the classroom set.

“ _Take five, everyone. Zayn, can I speak to you for a minute_?” Marv calls out, and Zayn pushes himself from the wall. Louis gives him a small, tight smile, before he's off to receive a hug from Liam that reminds Zayn of a warm, toasted blanket on a cold rainy evening.

“Glad to see you haven't lost your inner Zander,” Marv jokes. “We’re gonna try something different for this next scene.” He says, which makes Zayn skeptical.

Marv jots down a few notes on a semi blank piece of paper, handwriting only eligible to his own eyes.

“People look up to Zander,” Marv says. “They need the representation that they deserve.”

Zayn nods in agreement. He had been worried about completely blowing this, and instead of inspiring young teens - he feared he would only make a parody of the situation.

“For that to happen - this new relationship for Zander needs to be genuine. Natural, if you will.” He says. His tone is careful, making sure each word gets through to his prized actor.

“I want you and Niall to do as you think feels right.” Marv says. “Try out some improv, be your character - do whatever your ‘ _Zander Vibes_ ’ tell you to do, or say. Understand?” He doesn’t say it in a rude way, more as if he is trying to coax a baby calf into walking on its own.

Zayn's talents stop just shy of improv. He would rather have the dialogue and body language written out for him on paper, direction as to what he's meant to be doing.

“Uh,” He says intelligently. He's not so sure about this, seeing as the boy in question seems to leave him speechless. He's skeptical if Zander will be able to withstand the charming boy.

“At least give it a shot, and if it doesn't work - We’ll figure it out. Just try not to think about it so hard, let Zander guide you.” He advises. Zayn's still worried that he'll ruin the scene by imitating that of a deer caught in headlights, mouth gaping like a fish.

He nods his head with a nervous twitch to his lips, ignoring the urge to run his fingers through his hair.

“That's a good lad,” Marv smiles sweetly. “Just go on as the scene says, and let the rest work itself out.”

Zayn bites at his lip, “Where's uh - where’s Niall?” He looks around, finding no signs of the blond boy anywhere in the hallways. Marv’s smile slips into one of adoration, the sweet look on his face enough to crack a cavity in Zayn's tooth.

“I've already spoken with him, Zayn. We want this to be easy, a natural reaction of the first time Zander meets him.” Marv lays a touch to his arm and gently directs him to take his place by the lockers again, picking up from where the last scene ends, with Zander watching after Tristen’s retreating back.

“Aaaaaaand - _Action_!”

He counts off to three in his head before releasing a long winded sigh, hiking his backpack up more firmly on his shoulder. He's lost in thought, face imitating that of what he hopes to be lost in direction.

Reaching behind his head, he retrieves the lacrosse stick from his bag and grips his fingers around the shaft tightly, to the point where they go numb with lack of blood flow. Zayn's never gotten the point of the sport, not one for crushed collarbones himself, but Zander lives and breathes for it. The only constant in his life.

“Welcome back, Phelps!” One of the lads on the team, Graham Duncan, calls out across the hallway, ball tossed into the air and landing safely back in his open palm. The jacket framing his broad shoulders clears the way of lingering students. He takes a stance, giving him no time before he hurls the ball towards him, loud laugh resonating down the hall like a challenge.

“ _Focus, Zander_.” Marv coaxes, using emphasis on the name.

Zander’s reflexes are sharp, especially when it comes to lacrosse. He didn't make team captain for nothing, of course. Although, his actions are a little stilted due to the hazard that is students occupying the way, and his heart beats quick as he keeps his eyes trained on the soaring ball, just a bit too high to be caught easily.

His shoes make it easy to keep balance on the slick linoleum floors, squeaking as he slides a foot back in stance.

His feet start moving backwards on instinct, trying to maneuver his path so the ball doesn't end up fracturing his face. Just as the familiar weight of the ball accompanies his net, he bumps into someone, the both of them falling to a heap on the floor.

He expects Marv to call cut, but when he looks up from the ground, the director is watching attentively, and the person below him is muttering nonsense to themselves.

“I am so sorry,” Zander apologizes profusely. Scrambling to remove his weight from the body he landed on top of. There's papers strewn about; course outlines for the semester, a schedule with at least twice the amount of classes he is taking, project papers, and a map of the school.

He picks them up one at a time, not wanting to ruin this person's day any more by ripping their school work.

“Are you okay? I really am sorry about that -” He lifts his head to give the person a sincere look, but his breath catches somewhere deep in his throat when the boy meets his eyes briefly.

“Fine, I'm fine.” The boy says in a rush, taking the papers from his hand and stuffing them into his brown crossbody backpack. He looks embarrassed, footwork unsteady as he scrambles to stand.

Zander takes him in from where's he's crouched on the floor, looking up at the boy with mesmerized eyes.

He's got these thick framed glasses that make his eyes appear bigger, blue watered down by the glass - as if he has a film of tears obstructing his vision, making his eyes as bright as the clear tropical waters. He pushes them back into place with his pointer finger, accompanied with a sniff that sounds as if he is trying to redeem himself.

His hair is styled down, blond fringe swept across his forehead. It looks soft, like if he were to run a single finger through the stray pieces at the side of his head, it’d be like running the tips of his fingers along the surface of water; crisp and clean.

His outfit consists of these loud red trousers that accentuate his long, skinny legs - a white button down that's fastened up to his chin and tucked neatly into his pants, and a suede cardigan layered on top. His shoes are a pair of pristine brown loafers, the boys feet void of socks. He has a fancy watch wrapped around his wrist, and his whole being reminds Zander of his friends from back in the day, before reality set in.

He should be disgusted. Instead, he's enraptured.

All in all, it's not the sure way to get the blood pumping in Zayn. He rather likes the too big Supras that Niall had on earlier, the sleep swept fringe of his hair, as well as the comical green duck sweater that made his eyes pop in color and the voice in the back of his head to laugh maniacally while clutching its stomach with love hearts burping out of its mouth.

Zander's well interested, though.

The boy averts his eyes as he stands, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his sweater. He looks so out of place in this sea of varsity jackets, morning nacho breath and copious amounts of Axe body spray that they use to keep their mindsets in the high school setting.

“Are you new?” Zander inquires. “I’ve never seen you around before - and I’m positive I would remember you.” He’s flirting, something he hasn't done since he’d been with Meg, convincing himself that he loved her. He's never flirted with a male before.

It seems to make it easier to talk to the boy when he's the one out of his comfort zone, feeling like Zander has the upper hand - or just a clearer mind.

The boy nods - these choppy, nervous bobs of his head, pushing the bridge of his glasses further up his nose.

“I - uhm, just transferred,” He says, finally meeting Zander’s eyes. He looks as if he's making his escape route - and he's blinking his eyes a lot, like he's overwhelmed.

Zander feels a bit lost, hurrying to pick his bag off of the floor and stuff his lacrosse stick inside, all the while trying to think of something - anything to say to the boy so he won't run away. He’s sure that's not how this scene is supposed to go.

“I’m Zander,” He says, too loud perhaps, but the boy doesn't react. He just nods his head like this is common news, and keeps his eyes on the passerby students heading off to their classes.

“I know who you are, Zander.” The boy says, not in a harsh way, just simply stating. He cuts his eyes back over to him briefly, like he was just curious of his reaction.

“I’m Noah,” The boy says, hesitantly presenting a hand for Zander to shake. “Noah James.” They shake hands, but it feels like more, feels like a new beginning - the start of something.

Zander nods his head, not sure of what to say to the boy that doesn't come across as cocky or self centered. He doesn't want to ask, _how do you know me if I don't know you, or please tell me you haven't seen YouTube videos of my dramatic outburst last year._

Liam shoots him an encouraging smile, and that's enough to keep him from calling quits and demand a written script.

Zayn’s not sure what he's doing, to be honest. He's feels a bit overwhelmed, and his month’s kind of dry.

Noah grins, “I have not been stalking you.” He says. “I moved here from Starlight Academy.”

“Oh, well that explains a lot.” Zander says, and then mentally face palms when the boy frowns.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asks, hurt lacing the end, making it come out high pitched and defensive. He takes a step back and Zander's fingers twitch to reach out after him.

“No! No, just with the clothes and the extra course work,” He says, and then, mumbling, “And you trying to run away from me.”

It shouldn't hurt as much, because his life at Starlight Academy is old news, something to wave off when it's brought up in passing.

They haven't actually revealed anything of Zander's time at the horrid private school, except of course the rumors and the taunting, and being driven out of the school because he was _different_ and the privileged do not have time for different.

Noah looks like the epitome of kicked puppy. His face is pulled down in this sad frown, sympathetic and guilty tied together with understanding.

“I don't believe anything they say, you know.” He says, almost like a question. Zander shakes his head before he's finished, knowing the truth because he's seen the truth. In his mind, yeah, but to Zander those memories will forever haunt him.

“Why wouldn't you?” He laughs self deprecatingly. “Everyone else did.” It's a low blow, he knows this. But, every vile filled person is the same at that school; pretentious little shits that think they're better than the world and will expel of anyone who dares think otherwise.

Zayn once drew out a map of the fictional school, adding devil horns and pits of fire to each of the stick figured students representing the alumni of Starlight Academy.

Noah frowns, “Because they’re all a bunch of snot nosed bastards that are too blinded by their parents money to see how extraordinarily ordinary they are,” He says matter of fact. “And - I can see it in your eyes.”

Zander stares at him for a long while, knuckles white from where they're gripping onto the straps of his bag. He nods his head, not sure of what else to do, because that was something he didn't expect to hear.

Noah isn't anything like Niall, granted, Zayn's only been around the both of them for a short while, but it's almost like they're two completely different people.

Marv looks pleased with their work, smile bitten off between his teeth, nearly falling off the edge of his seat. Liam, for once, is watching them rather than the scene through the camera's screen. Louis has somehow produced a bucket of popcorn, looking entertained and hungry all in the same.

Where to go from there is the question - he glances over towards the director for some guidance, but all Marv does is wave him on. _Keep going. You're doing great._

He shifts from foot to foot, eyes raking over the boy in front of him, landing on the expensive digital watch on his slender wrist.

 _Improvise_ , Zayn thinks.

“Oh!” He starts, smiling wide as he plans his course of action. “What time is it?” He asks, gesturing his hand towards the boy's wrist. He already feels giddy about this, excited to finally show the viewers something that he has been wanting to use in a scene.

“Huh, oh - ha.” Noah blushes, pushing at the bridge of his glasses. He palms his hand over the watch, twisting it this way and that on his wrist, looking bashful. Zander watches him with a truly endeared smile.

“My watch doesn't uhm - tell time?” His voice breaks at the end, embarrassed and flustered and absolutely adorable.

The same blush that accompanies Niall’s easy smile and bright features is now on Noah’s sheepish features, though it looks more prominent on his pale cheeks.

“Your watch doesn't -,” Zander starts to question. Instead, he shakes his head with a warm laugh, wondering how one person can be so cute.

He checks the time on his phone, smiling up at the boy with an eager glint in his eye.

“Come on, we have just enough time.” He says, taking hold of the boy’s wrist in between his fingers and tugs him along after him down the hallway.

He hopes that Liam doesn't mind a bit of a walk, as well as dodging between the extras acting as clique groups scattered throughout the hallway.

“What - where are we going? Class is about to start!” Noah drops his voice to a tight whisper, but makes no move to break free from his grasp. He clutches at the strap of his bag, keeping it close to his body as Zander drags him off to a secluded stairwell, and then to an empty classroom that looks as if it hasn't been used in ages.

The lights are off, dust particles swimming in the stream of light coming in from the window.

He’d seen Liam trailing after them, keeping his distance as he follows them through the hallways. They're most likely to cut the part of them running up the stairs - fingers tangled together awkwardly, breath coming out in pants.

He keeps the lights off as he leads them inside, releasing his grip on the boy's hand once they have caught their breaths. Zayn's not even sure if there is working electricity in this room, long since forgotten about and used for water storage.

Noah swipes a finger across one of the long science lab tables, grimacing at the layer of dust that comes with it. Zander walks to the large windows looking out at the school yard, he can feel the boy's curious eyes on him.

Along the countertop, there are dozens of potted flowers; arranged neatly by name and color. Their petals shake from the blow of the air conditioning, like a welcome dance for his arrival.

Zayn had noticed the forgotten beauties when he walked past the abandoned classroom one of the first mornings working at the studio; lonely and on the cusps of dehydration. Slowly, he brought them back to life, one day at a time, until they were alive and radiant, just as they were made to be.

“Did you hear the one about how I cornered him?” His voice is dead even, no amusement or self pity in his words. “How I threatened to out him if he didn't do as I say?”

Marv had told him he could play around with the telling of Zander's backstory, gruff it up a bit, he had said. It’s something he keeps in the back of his mind, like an unwritten story that he can add on to when he has a moment to let his mind wander. Zayn's had this predicament stored in the back of his mind for a year now.

He doesn't turn around to see Noah’s reaction - not sure he would want to anyways. There's a gentle touch to his shoulder, barely there, but it pushes a breath out of his lungs like a punch.

“They said that I _targeted_ him, like I had a schedule.” He shakes his head down at the plants, since they know better than anyone or anything how much this has plagued his mind. Sometimes, he'll mumble scenarios of what happened that day to himself, and then see if the plants quake with empathy.

“Just a _stupid_ gay freshmen that wanted to corrupt the school's beloved quarterback.” The touch to his shoulder tightens, turns into a grounding hold. He wonders, fleetingly, how much he had been told about Zander's past, enough to convey that much support through a simple touch.

“It's not true.” Noah says, voice cut through the otherwise silent room in a whisper, but sounds like an empty promise to Zander's ears. He's told himself that, as well as everyone else. None of it is true. Maybe Zander is a little guarded, wary of trusting another person, but he wants this boy to believe him, to know him personally on his own free will and not some cruel gossip from the vile mouths of his enemies.

“You know, out of everything they said - the one that hurt the worst is when they said that he didn't care about me. That the most popular guy in school could never love a - a loser like me.”

In the beginning of the first season, Zander had been introduced as a depressed, closeted teenager who had to learn the difference between private school and public school. His condition has improved since the first episode, with joining the lacrosse team and rising to the top fairly quick, he learned to hide his insecurities in the stitching of his letterman jacket.

Zander's reasoning for his departure from Starlight had been implied throughout the first season, but never confirmed. Marv tells him to give the fans bits and pieces of his backstory, just enough to keep them on their toes.

Faintly, the sound of rumbling thunder fills the room. It’s as if a storm is rolling in the distance, signaling the approach of rain. Liam scrunches his face up as he glances up baffled, but nonetheless keeps the cameras recording.

Noah looks confused, rightfully, since the sky is as clear blue as his eyes, not a cloud in sight. The pinch to his eyebrows makes his glasses shift on his face, and he rights them with the tips of his two fingers.

“Watch,” Zander says, backing them up a few steps, to where a small piece of white tape marks the floor. He can't contain the eager smile twitching at his face, but this has always been his favorite part about early call times.

Zander kind of wants to impress Noah, show him that public school isn't as bad as their former peers had jeered. Show him the bright sides before the less than pretty ones come out of the shadows. A part of Zayn wants to share this with Niall as well, show him first hand some of the secrets around the corners of the studio that not many people know about.

The thunder continues, rolling through the room in waves. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath, imagining the smell of incoming rain, swaying along with the projected wind.

Noah opens his mouth like he's going to question what's going on, but he's cut off by the start of misted water being sprouted from the ceiling, effectively watering the flowers along the window sill.

Zayn doesn't really know where the small sprinkler nozzles came from - the janitor, he suspects. The old man, who Zayn has only met twice in passing, keeps the plants fed and clean while he is off duty. They add a nice touch to the improvised flower garden, giving the plants just the right amount of water to keep them alive and beautiful.

“Woah.” Noah breathes out, amazed.

The skies outside are bright and welcoming, contradicting the rainstorm occurring inside of the empty classroom.

When the thunder fades and the light rain stops after having sufficiently fed the flowers, and the storm moves on to a place way over the hills, the room goes silent.

Zander turns his head, surprised to see Noah already watching him with wonder in his eyes. He smiles, a sort of secret laced between the two. It feels like a breath of fresh air when Noah holds his hand out in offering, like it's his turn to release a part of himself otherwise hidden, and he takes it in his own, feeling brave for the first time in forever.

“ _Cut_!” Marv sounds breathless, the sound of a pencil dropping to the floor ending his shout.

There's no comment from the director, no remarks about the cheesiness of the scene they had made. No one is ushering them back to the hallway to start fresh - try a different scenario. Louis is suspiciously quiet.

When he reluctantly let's go of Niall’s hand, their fingers sliding against one another with little shocks of _something_ and callouses from the boy's hand, a blush threatens to set his face a flame from the inside out.

Marv looks thoroughly impressed; chin cradled in his palm and a smug looking smirk on his face. Louis’ hand is pressed open palmed against his mouth, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. Liam smiles when he meets his eyes, a small nod in the form of approval.

Zayn suddenly feels embarrassed, pushing out a nervous laugh as he rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding everyone's dazed eyes.

Someone clears their throat, “Right, well. That was - that was something.” Marv says, smile evident in his voice. Louis fans his face dramatically, sniffing back the tears.

“That was _beautiful_ ,” Louis corrects.

Zayn feels too hot in this suddenly small room, second-hand embarrassment washing through him from how many _feelings_ were passing through Zander while the cameras were rolling and Noah was there beside him, attached at the hands.

He can't look at Niall, can't bring himself to turn to the other boy and see his reaction without his face turning an unflattering shade of red.

Marv apparently takes pity on him, “That scene right there,” He calls out, loud and clear for the whole cast and crew to hear. Zayn feels like throwing up. “That is the kind of good stuff that earns you an early lunch.”

He's smiling wide, like he's just offered them all free round trip tickets to the moon, instead of the opportunity to shovel a plate of grease-soaked french fries into their mouths at half past eleven.

“Niall, I want to run through something with you.” He voices, dismissing them all with a weak wave of his fingers. He trots over to where the two are still rooted to the spot, a sort of awkward atmosphere clouded over them. Marv bats the bad vibes away as he shoo’s him out of the room, huddling close to Niall, giving Zayn the out he so desperately needs.

He ends up trailing behind Louis and Liam, aware that they have started up a filler conversation, yet his mind is elsewhere. He's staring down at his shoes, making a point to step on each crack in the tiles, hoping that something breaks, preferably his cursed anti-socialness.

“Hey,” Louis bumps their shoulders together, knocking him off of his path. He looks over at the pair from under his eyelashes, trying to mask the disorientation he's feeling in his chest.

“Let's wipe that frown off of your face and get some real food before they make us munch on those disgusting plastic fruits for the next scene.” He's smiling, the soft-crinkles-by-his-eyes smile he only uses when someone is showing emotions he doesn't know how to handle.

Zayn doesn't answer, just bobs his head in a form of agreement. He doesn't feel hungry at all.

He tries to ignore the way Louis’ laugh sounds like happiness when he attempts to get at Liam’s cheeks, only for him to intercept the grabby hands at the last second, holding them firmly in his grasp at the wrists.

They smile at each other like they can see the universe in the other's eyes - mapped out and color coded for them to trail along when they feel lost.

He feels an itch under his skin, like he's craving nicotine, but more than that, he's craving some peace and quiet. The loud and lively conversations spilling out of the lunch room and into the hallways pluck at his nerves, wishing he could shield himself somehow from the noise.

He slides into the bench of their designated spot next to the soda machine, with twitchy fingers that he shoves under the table, lacing his hands together to keep from drumming them on the table top.

He feels detatched from himself, like he's coming down from a high too fast and unsteady. Usually, he can ease himself out of Zander's head and into his own, but right now, he feels as if the line between the two doesn't exist.

Louis comes to sit across from him at the table a handful of minutes later, placing a chocolate muffin and two paper coffee cups between them.

“So,” He says, a little regretfully. “No coffee, but they had chocolate milk - and that's so much better than some bitter sludge.”

He slides one of the cups across the table to him, the same time he bites into the muffin. He seems delighted in himself, munching on the crumbly pastry and washing it down with tea, no doubt. Zayn just feels betrayed by the offered cup.

“Not eating then?” Louis inquires. “They have those muffins with banana and chocolate chips that you like.”

He knows that he should eat something to restore his energy for the upcoming scenes, but he shakes his head, resisting the urge to pillow his head in his arms on the table and sulk.

Liam joins them after Louis has finished his muffin and is working on his second cup of tea, dropping down on the bench next to Louis with a plate holding two large slices of pepperoni pizza and a bottle of Gatorade

“Good job on that scene, Zayn. I don't think they could have scripted it any better.” Liam compliments, taking a swig of the blue drink and setting about to cut his pizza using a plastic fork and knife.

Zayn smiles, though it feels broken and lame, exactly how he feels on the inside. Liam gives up on trying to converse with him after he has to repeat himself three times from Zayn's mind drifting elsewhere.

He's just about to dismiss himself for a drag of a cigarette behind his trailer, when a loud laugh that breaks into giggles enters the lunch room. Zayn's only heard it since this morning, but he's positive he would recognize the sound anywhere.

Niall walks into the room like he's done it a thousand times, laughing at something the boy he's walking with says to him, calling out a quick _see ya later_ before he's making his way towards their table.

Zayn can't look away, not while Niall is still dressed in his bright jeans and cardigan, the glasses enhancing the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

“There's me favorite Irish friend.” Louis beams happily, face softening as Niall sits next to Zayn on the bench. He's got two muffins to accompany his already packed lunch, as well as a large disposable mug that looks warm and inviting.

“Your _only_ Irish friend, I'm sure.” Niall says, laughing even as he tears open the plastic and chomps out a bite of the blueberry muffin. It's not even that funny, just a simple fact, really, but Zayn finds himself smiling anyways, head hung low as if distancing himself, shielding himself from social activity.

“All the same, babe.” Louis winks, causing Niall to throw his head back with a bark of laughter, crumbling the plastic in his palm and discarding it on the side of Liam’s plate.

Niall turns to him then, hiccuping back a laugh and regaining himself, leaning his head closer like he's playing into Zayn's failed attempt at hiding. He sits with his legs spread wide, shoulders hunched and feet tapping out on the ground. It’s vastly different from Noah’s nervous posture, toes pointed together and back poised straight.

“Alright?” He asks quietly. It sounds genuine, like if Zayn said no, he would dig to the center of the Earth to fix whatever is bothering him.

Zayn nods his head with uncertainty the same time Louis says, “He's moping because he hasn't gotten his morning coffee yet.” Picking a pepperoni from Liam's pizza and dropping it into his mouth in a way that leaves a drop of sauce at the corner of his smirk, delighted at Zayn's heated glare.

Niall smiles at him tenderly, reaching out to pick up his coffee cup and slides it in front of where he's pouting at a little chip in the table top. As soon as the cup is placed in front of his nose, the delicious aroma of coffee brings his body back to life, hands coming up from their tight embrace to wrap around the heated mug.

He looks over at Niall with puzzlement, though not able to help the satisfying smile warming his features as he inhales a deep breath of the beverage.

“There wasn't any left, like,” He says, frowning a bit. He takes a small sip, testing the waters, and nearly groans at how good and perfect it is.

“Josh - the one I was talking with, yeah? He works for security around the east wing and showed me where they keep the golf carts - we have t’ take one out for a spin sometime.” Niall’s eyes light up, fingers coming to Zayn's thigh with a grounding squeeze. He smiles, showing off his perfectly straight teeth, softness in his eyes.

“ _Anyways_ , I usually don't drink coffee - unless there's about a pound of sugar to go with it, but he had bought me one when he showed me the way back and I couldn't just say no-,” He takes a breath, seeming to lose his place in the story, baring his teeth at Zayn like a sloppy ending to his tale.

Louis and Liam watch him as one would a toddler who has just learned their first words, eyes wide as the try to keep up with the story and wondering when exactly they'll give themselves a second to breathe.

Zayn nods his head around a smile, pulling a sip from the mug gratefully. He feels better now, head lighter and mood lifted now that caffeine has been fueled into his system. His stomach growls in need, now that his craving for caffeine has been taken care of, his appetite is back and pleading for some relief.

Niall laughs at the disturbed look on his face, slapping his open palm on the table to emphasize his amusement. If it were anyone else laughing at his discomfort, he would be offended and probably have a few choice words for them. Niall grips at his shoulder with a comforting squeeze, the charisma sparkling from his eyes all the way to his fingers has Zayn shaking his head as an attempt to wipe off the enthralled smile painted on his lips.

“You've awoken the beast,” Niall says in this exaggerated Romanian accent. He hands over the uneaten muffin, exposing his cuspids in an overdramatized grin.

“ _I will not let you go into the unknown alone_.” He recites, sniggering at his own cleverness. He doesn't even seem to be aware of the fact that his thigh is pressed snug against Zayn's, jostling him with every laugh.

A kick to his shin has Zayn snapping his head up, biting the smile off of his lips at the pure delight shining from Louis’ grin.

“ _Dracula, Zayn_!” He urges, tone light but all-knowing. Zayn widens his eyes at him briefly, trying to tell him to shut it up without having to actually say it. Louis rolls his eyes, but the smile is there as he snuggles his way under Liam's arm.

Niall goes about to unload his bagged lunch, wrinkling his nose at the sandwich that has been cut diagonally in half and wrapped neatly in plastic wrap that has Zayn's stomach drooling in want.

“Egg salad with cucumber?” Louis asks, surprised. “Thought Z was the only person on the _planet_ who ate that mess.” His lips curl in disgust, fingers wrapping up in the fabric of Liam's t-shirt, wrinkling in his hold against the middle of the cameraman’s chest.

Niall’s surprise lights up his entire face, turning even more towards Zayn, so much that his knees dig into his thigh.

“Unbelievable,” He says, smiling as he unwraps the plastic and offers Zayn half. It's on toasted wheat bread, crumbly when Zayn takes the piece between his fingers.

It's maddening how Niall watches him with eager eyes as he bites into the sandwich, awaiting his reaction with a patient smile.

There's a certain sense of comfort he finds in a simple egg salad sandwich, the taste reminding him that even if the setting around him changes, his love for eggs and cucumbers never deters.

He groans in satisfaction, swiping a finger at the corner of his mouth to lick off the extra mayo, a hint of a spice teasing his taste buds, enhancing the sweetness of the cucumber and the tang of the mayonnaise. He licks at his lips, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Good, right?” Niall says, taking a bite out of his own piece. Despite his vocal disgust towards the creation, he seems to be enjoying it enough. Zayn nod his head earnestly, ready to ask what ingredient has been added, gathering the crumbs on the table into a small pile.

“My roommate - Harry, excellent cook that one. He's been taking classes on baking and cooking and every day I come home to a new dish to try. Last week, the special ingredient was cilantro. Not so great in stew, if ya ask me. But the spaghetti was divine.” Niall says, bringing his fingertips to his lips for a kiss, sending it off with a smile.

“This week is paprika - been finding it all over the apartment, even in my bed sheets!” He exclaims, laughing at his own words. It's frighteningly endearing the way Niall talks as if he's got his whole life’s memories ready in queue for the next set of ears to listen to. Zayn likes being those ears to listen.

“It's good,” He agrees, keeping his eyes on the last bite of sandwich in between his fingers. “Different from how my mom makes it - but, I like it.” He says, watching amazed as Niall finishes off his half in three large bites. Niall laughs a little, shaking his head to himself in amusement.

“If he knew that you just complimented his cooking skills, he wouldn't live another minute to make more sandwiches.” Niall says, opening the bag of crisps and shovelling a handful into his mouth.

Louis meets his eyes, smiling wide from his place against Liam’s chest, resting all of his weight on him with fingers clutched around his arm where it’s wrapped tight around his frame while Liam reads through Louis’ script.

“Yeah? He a fan of the show?” Zayn asks, sitting up a little straighter. It’s always nice to hear about the people who get into the show, eating up the drama and dying to know what happens next. He likes the reminder that there are people out there who don't think that he's ruining the show and making a fool of himself.

Niall nods his head as he shoves a whole chip in his mouth, munching happily while he stares into the remnants of his snack.

“Definitely - more a fan of _you_ though.” Niall looks over at him, winking at the flush that takes over his face. He dumps the rest of the crumbs into his mouth, adding the bag to the growing pile on Liam’s plate.

“He's not even subtle about it, really. Like, there’s a calendar of you in every room of the apartment, each on different months of the year and he’s got a cardboard cutout of you that sits at the kitchen counter - i think he has morning tea with it.” He says conversationally, and then, once he meets Zayn’s slightly wide eyes, his cheeks start to pink up and he coughs into his fist awkwardly.

“And if he ever found out i told you that, he would suffocate me in my sleep.” He says pleadingly, as if imagining his impending death. Zayn sees him bring one of his thumbs up to his mouth, nipping at the skin on the side, a nervous habit Zayn has come to recognize. He bumps his leg into Niall’s, smiling in what he hopes to be a comforting gesture.

“What else are cardboard cutouts for?” He teases, giggling out a laugh that Niall joins in wholeheartedly. He glances up and sees Liam pointing out something to Louis on the script, giving him advice on ways to go about the dialogue. His own script is laying forgotten on the table, but the next scene doesn't involve as much talking as it does emotion, which Zander has plenty of anyways.

The camera crew start setting up at the head of the room; lights positioned just so, lenses dusted and what not. It’s not long before Marv struts into the room, making last minute changes to the scene and triple checking everything.

“That's my cue, lads.” Liam announces, hugging Louis to his chest tight before signing off with a nod of the head and a plate mountain of trash.

“Payno,” Niall says in this soft, affectionate voice that matches the fond look on his face. “What a lad, ‘at one.” He directs that part to Louis, whose eyes go soft for a moment and then slide back into their natural aura of devil-horned kittens wearing party hats. Maybe with tiny pitchforks, but plastic.

“Liam’s not a lad, dear Irish. He's still climbing the boy ladder.” Louis remarks, because he is a mastermind of games and the quirk in his eyebrow raises a challenge.

“Understandable, he seems to be lacking the component of awareness to be a lad.” Niall says in a teasing tone. “So, what am I then?” Niall quips back, game set and check mate. Zayn watches on, astonished.

Louis’ face visibly transforms from that of a bitchy Disney villain, to one of pure sugar cane syrup. Zayn’s pretty sure he just fell in love.

“You, my token Irish friend, are perfect. Don’t ever change.” Louis says like one would to a beloved child. Niall looks a bit teary eyed, but Zayn's kind of expecting one of the violin guys in the band to end the scene with sorrowful music.

“Now, let’s get to Layla before my hair deflates faster than a Macy’s Day balloon.” He grumps, casting annoyed crossed eyes at the drooping strands springing in front of his face.

Zayn hangs back until Niall has slid out of the bench, so he doesn't see him less than gracefully disentangle himself from the contraption.

“Hey -, so uh,” Niall starts. He's not looking at Zayn, rather somewhere over his shoulder. “I’ve got a few scenes left for today, just like small background things - nothing big. But, I saw on the schedule that you don't have a scene after this until later and I wasn't sure if I was going to see you before then, and I just-” He stops, leaving Zayn on the edge of a breath. He looks over to him then, taking him in and smiles softly.

“Thank you.” Niall breathes out. He hugs his arms tight to his body, and looks at Zayn like he's expecting something. Zayn goes to shake his hand or _something_ to get Niall to stop looking at him like a Christmas mistletoe, but then Niall is hugging him, arms wrapped tight around Zayn’s own and fluffy wisps of blonde hair that _smells like lavender, sweet mercy_ tickles his nose and after a few seconds of Niall swaying them in place, Zayn closes his eyes and relaxes into it.

“Thank you for the coffee - and food from chef Harry.” He mumbles when Niall pulls away his warmth and good smelling products. It earns him a delightful giggle laugh that bursts like bubbles in his ears.

“I’m sending the medical bills to you when he has a heart attack.” Niall swats at his arm playfully, setting him up for the perfect opportunity and Zayn - sees Louis waving at him impatiently from the hallway, standing on the tips of his toes to be seen over the heard of people.

“I should go-,” He says, shrugging a shoulder in the vague direction of his destination. Niall nods his head, the light in his eyes a bit dimmer now that he's not smiling.

“Just so you know,” He says, heart hammering in his chest. Niall looks up at him and Zayn can feel how wide his eyes are.

“Zander _really_ likes those glasses.” He says, breath heavy. Niall’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms, smile reappearing tenfold.

He leaves before his blood pressure rises any more, his heart ready to bust out of his chest and take coverage in the hands of someone more qualified - like Liam, maybe.

Louis’ already in one of the chairs when he all but sprints to the makeup room, eyes closed in content as Layla powders his forehead. He has a minute to breathe while Louis gets finished up, nothing to distract himself besides the ins and outs of his breathing and the _Bradford Heights: Season One_ promotional poster tacked on to the beige walls that he has a copy of hanging up in his trailer - and rolled up in his bathroom, behind the toilet.

Zayn goes through the rest of the day on autopilot, and three more cups of coffee - courtesy of Niall, who now knows the life of Security Guard Josh between the ages of two to fourteen. He apparently is very good with people, and he actually invests himself in the bland aspects of their daily lives.

The cafeteria scene, thankfully, only has to be run through three times, because Zayn and Louis have perfected the longing stares across the lunchroom down to a solid nine point five.

Zayn can't really say what happened after that, when the moment had built up and Tristen was en route to his old lunch table with Zander, rather than the cheer squad table with his pregnant girlfriend. He remembers the moment Zander looked away and there stood Noah, picking at his sweater nervously with a lunch tray held in one hand, scanning the room for a place to belong.

Marv had waved him on, but Zander was already out of his seat, rescuing the boy with a hand wrapped around his arm lightly, the angle providing that of a flirty exchange, when in fact, Niall was telling Zayn of his cravings for tacos. It suppressed a genuine laugh out of him, but later made him frown thinking back to the rejected look on his best friends face when Liam showed the playback.

_Season Two, Episode Two: The Act of Falling_

He sees Niall once more before he leaves the set, when he’s standing outside of Zayn’s trailer with his diamond printed folder and an orange.

(Blessedly, Zayn's had a much needed hot shower and he's feeling about twenty pounds of hair spray and gel lighter. The worn pair of sweatpants left in his trailer from last season smells of the cold weather and promises of relaxing. He’d thrown on one of the spare purple and black _Bradford Athletics_ shirts that occupy over half of his wardrobe.)

“You don’t mind, do you? Cos’ Louis said i could share with him until my trailer is finished.” Niall says with guilt in his voice and on his face. He’s in a different outfit than before - this one a gym uniform that consists of a plain black t-shirt with the school’s wolf logo, tiny purple shorts that should be locked in a closet, or a shrine surrounded by vanilla scented candles. He’s still got the glasses on, matching perfectly with the knee high tube socks stuffed into black running shoes. His hair is swept to the side and he looks so ridiculous, but some ghost part of Zayn finds the sight endearing.

Zayn let's him in, part because he doesn't want him to get frostbite, but also because despite Louis’ offer of his man cage that always has the heat set to one temperature degree past uncomfortably warm and houses smells that will have you guessing for days - despite being offered the ultimate bromate, Niall came to him.

Zayn shuffles around some stray books on the small kitchen table, stacking them on top of each other in a shaky tower, clearing a spot for Niall’s items. There’s a power rangers poster hanging on the wall above the table that Niall admires with an engrossed stare, a secret sort of smile on his flushed face.

“I have to get back to set, but thank you so much, mate. PJ, from the building department, he said that it shouldn't take more than a few days, a week at most - you won’t even know I’m here!” He calls gleefully as he rushes out the door, the pencil that had been left inside the folder rolls onto the floor in his haste.

It's late afternoon of the first day of shooting and Zayn is ready for a nap. Technically, he can go home. He's not due for the next scene for another two hours, but he knows that if he spends that time in his apartment, all he is going to do is twiddle his fingers and rummage through the empty cupboards in hopes of finding a forgotten pop tart, or a half empty water bottle in the fridge.

The couch that takes up majority of the space in his trailer folds out to a double bed, the sheets crisp from the cold air and smell faintly of laundry soap if he breathes in hard enough. He doesn't pull out the couch, mainly because he doesn't need the reminder that there is always another side of the bed untouched.

He sets his alarm for a little over an hour, giving himself enough time to change back into his uniform that he has hanging up in the small bathroom, as well as getting to Layla so she can rid of the sleep from his face before the scene. Also, enough time to search for some coffee.

The sound of tires on gravel, feet padding against the blacktop and distant chatter help ease him into a peaceful sleep, where he dreams of singing, dancing oranges on a diamond printed stage.

When he wakes what feels like a few minutes later, there's an ache in his head, a foot wedged between his ankles and an arm thrown across his waist, keeping him from toppling off the couch.

Before even opening his eyes, he grabs at his phone where it rests underneath his comfy memory foam pillow - one of the more important purchases he had made with his very first paycheck. The time tells him that his alarm is set to go off in two minutes, so he quickly switches it off and wonders how the hell Niall managed to squeeze himself between his sleeping limbs and the back of the couch without waking him.

(Vaguely, during his dream, Zayn remembers one of the oranges crooning at him to go back to sleep and he did just that with a smile lingering on his face, so there's that.)

Now though, he's got a tight hold on his stomach and lavender clouding his head space and right now, being Zander Phelps sounds a lot less intimidating than being in this situation. So, he carefully slips out from under Niall’s limbs, making sure the thin blanket that's more for decoration than comfort is wrapped snug around his sleeping body.

He spends the time it takes to change into the lacrosse uniform; snazzy black jersey shorts that ruffle in the wind and send a breeze up his legs, a tight fitting athletics shirt that has the number twelve as well as _Phelps_ printed in white lettering, thinking hard about how long it's been since his feet have hit the hard ground of the practice field, and solely _not_ thinking about how all he really wants to do is climb back into sleep and snuggle into the soft embrace of his unfairly attractive blond co-worker.

There's a lone coffee cup sitting on the table, and he hesitates on getting his hopes up, but then he sees the little _z_ penned in black on the styrofoam part of the mug and something like sunshine blooms in his chest. Next to the cup lays Noah's glasses and he takes a second to wonder if Niall did that on purpose, as well.

By the time he makes it to the field, his blood is fully caffeinated and Louis is shivering in his headgear and gloves, his bare legs trembling like he has to take a wee.

Zayn jogs over to him, slowly and a little pathetic because his feet feel like ice cubes that are being tortured with fire and the cold air is sucking the breath out of his lungs.

“I need a bloody tissue, but I'm afraid if I take this helmet off, me nose is gonna come off with it.” Louis grumbles, teeth chattering obnoxiously. He's got his gloved hands gripped around the shaft of the stick, feet planted firmly to the ground, looking every bit the goalie that Tristen is.

“M’sure Liam would be more than happy to warm you up.” He teases, the amusement to his voice lost to the cold biting at his skin. The boy in statement is currently standing off to the sidelines with a comfortable smile on his face and a scarf hugging his neck that Zayn envies - Louis as well, if the scowl on his face is any indication.

“Speaking of people more fortunate than us at the moment - how’s rooming with Niall?” Louis shifts the attention to him, back a little straighter now that Zayn is the one being poked at.

“Haven't even noticed him there.” He lies through his teeth, brushing off the tense set to his shoulders to the cold wind chill making way up his flimsy shorts. He's almost expecting it to start snowing, and wonders if that means he could possibly get a pity coffee from one of the extras.

“I'm calling bullshit on that one,” Louis laughs, voice sounding warmer than he appears to be. “You two can't stop looking for the other whenever you're in the same room or sitting right next to each other - don't argue this with me, Zayn, I have the tallies.” He dismisses Zayn's aborted protest with a firm look that looks a little less intimidating shielded by the bulk of plastic.

“And anyways, I remember seeing that blond beauty buying a coffee from the security guards’ department, but if I'm not mistaken, which in not - said Irish snowflake doesn't drink the devil’s brew.” Louis taunts, because he's got the upper hand and he loves to see people's misery at the expense of his own self.

“First of all, I thought we agreed you wouldn't use your Tristen face when we're not filming - and second, you're lucky I can't feel my hands or I would offer you a ride on my finger.” He says in a grumpy tone, defensive because Louis is right and it's too cold for Louis to be right.

The way Louis’ face softens the moment Liam comes into peripheral view is amazing and confusing all in the same. Zayn’s subconscious sings Louis’ words back at him, pointing out the couple with its fingers in the shape of a heart.

“Zayn, we’re ready to start whenever you are.” Liam says with Louis’ hands cupped between his own, blowing his breath on them in an ineffective way of warming them up. His subconscious swoons and fans itself with a dazed look.

The scene starts out with practice in full swing, Zander watching over the team with an intense set to his eyes. Tristen guards the goal like it's his territory, spikes of his cleats digging up dirt from the ground, breath coming out like steam and anger. Liam's face looks equal parts disturbed and impressed as he captures a close up of Tristen.

Liam films the running of feet across the field, the grunts and growls of the players as they defend the ball. He blows the whistle once one of the smaller players takes a particularly rough fall to the ground, watching as he's lead off the field by two of his teammates. Liam follows after them, face concentrated and focused. He doesn't even seem to notice the bitter wind scratching at his face, something Zayn wishes he could possess the power of.

“Wake up, lads! Holiday break is over and season has officially started. Someone get Ryder a bucket and take a lap for each football game you’ve watched over break while stuffing your disgusting faces with leftovers.” He calls out to his teammates, his wolf pact.

He watches on as his boys start up a steady jog around the track, Tristen glaring daggers at him as he rips off his gear and sprints to catch up to the rest.

“ _Jeer at them, Zander. You're the captain, freshen their minds of it.”_ Marv directs from behind him, a beanie with a comical poof ball at the top shoved down to his bushy eyebrows makes him look like a grumpy elf.

“Let's go, Tate! How are you meant to chase after a child with those spaghetti noodles you call legs!” He cups his hands over his mouth to be heard on the far side of the track, smiling gleefully at the curse shouted to the wind in his name.

A shiver rolls through his body like a bad house guest, and he quickly walks to where the towels and water bottles are kept. He knows that his boys are going to be clutching at the grass blades once they finish their laps, and he doesn't need any of them passing out from dehydration.

Liam follows behind, focusing awkwardly on the shake to his bones and the little jig he can't help but tap out with his toes at the pinpricks of cold nipping at his bare skin.

His hands shake as he reaches for a towel, knocking the stack off the bench and onto the frozen earth below. He can't contain the shiver that rolls through his back and may have gotten that kink out of his neck from earlier, smoke cloud of breath shielding his curse.

He's not sure if Liam is still rolling the cameras, but he figures the least he could do is straighten the towels out to be ready for next take.

When the last towel is securely laid atop the rest, he hears a crunch to his right, near the entrance of the bleachers. Zander's supposed to be calling the team in for a short pep talk and then have them run drills, but he loses his focus, his subconscious stunned in amazement.

Noah stands at the gate, bag slung over one shoulder and a stack of clothes tucked under the other arm, cute red earmuffs covering his ears from the harsh wind and match his pants perfectly.

Zander forgets about the towels - and his teammates, instead walking his frozen limbs over to the bundled up blond with sleep soft hair and lazy eyes that are water rimmed from the cold.

“What are you doing here?” He asks with a smile, but he's not completely positive whom the question is for exactly, both of them, he supposes.

“You mentioned you had practice after school, so I thought I’d come and see what the hype was about.” Noah says with a shrug, but he's smiling like he's pleased that he could surprise him.

“On my way through the locker room, I ran into a man with a handlebar mustache and he told me to give these to you.” He hands over the clothes - long sleeved shirts that are cotton and feel like light hugs and sweatpants for him and Tristen.

One of the extras must have caught him before he made way to the field, busy with another oh-so important task. Zayn wonders if Marv planned this - it would make a lot more sense than Niall willingly giving up sleep to watch them play bad lacrosse and choke on their own breaths.

Zander nods his head with a laugh, “That's coach, he doesn't really do much besides chaperone our away games and watch re-runs of _The Office_.” Noah joins his laughter with a sort of quiet amusement. He's got his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool jacket, every bit of him bundled up in thick fabric, besides his nose which is slightly pink.

He takes one of the long sleeves from the pile and pins the remaining clothes snug between his thigh and the metal pole of the fence, stripping his crisp shirt over his head with trembling arms. The fabric of the long sleeve kisses his sore skin in whispers, releasing a satisfied sigh at the feeling of blood returning to his veins.

“So, did you just come to watch the practice, or?” Zander concentrates on balancing the spare set of sweats on the fence, glancing up at Noah from under his eyelashes.

“Uhm,” Noah says dumbfounded, eyes trained absently at Zander's clothed chest. “I had - uh, science thing.” He finishes lamely. His mind seems to be elsewhere and Zander nods his head down with a smile, trying to break the boy out of his trance.

Noah blinks his eyes in quick succession, looking up at Zander with a mortified look on his face. His face flushes to the color of a grapefruit, averting his eyes to the ground in a sheepish manner.

Zander watches him curiously, but when he bends to pick up his discarded shirt, he stills and a slow smile creeps onto his face.

Zayn has skin that is inked with black illustrations and marked with thoughts from the inside of his mind, some he had drawn himself, others he had gotten because the crave for delicious pain from a needle got too much for planning and designing.

Zander's skin is unmarked and unwritten, makeup covering up the lines and sharp edges of Zayn's tattoos to the point where you wouldn't even know he had them.

Zayn wonders if Niall likes tattoos.

Zander can't wipe the smile off his face at the thought of Noah tripping over his tongue at the sight of his toned chest uncovered and tense from the cold. He sees the boy flick his eyes to where his nipples are visibly hard underneath the long sleeve, closing them for a minute before raising them to the sky like a plea.

“Science, huh? Didn't even know they offered stuff for that after school.” To be fair, the only afterschool activity he’s aware of is the sport of lacrosse. He hasn't even attended a science class since a plate was dropped in front of his face with a frog sprawled out, ready to be ripped to shreds with the sharp metal tools they provided him with.

“Bradford has the most respected science program in the country, it's why I transferred here, mostly.” Noah says with a shrug of his shoulders, earmuffs sliding up his ears from the movement.

“And what's the other reason?” Zander asks, leaning forward so he can whisper and be heard by the blond bundle of warmth. Noah meets his eyes with his own that are calculating and guarded by a thick sheet of glass. He opens his mouth and Zander smiles softly at him in hopes of comfort, tugging at the chapped skin of his bottom lip with cold fingers.

“Ahem.” A very impatient interruption knocks Zander out of his mind, turning to see the entire team watching them with barely contained smiles on their sweating faces, all except for Tristen, who looks thoroughly inconvenienced at their expense.

“What's this, then?” Tristen says with contempt, chin raised in the direction of Noah, who shrinks away from the fence, ducking his head against the heated glare of the intimidating goalie.

“This-,” Zander says pointedly. “Is none of your business.” He reaches out those few inches, until the tips of his fingers catch on to the thick lining of Noah's coat, just holding on in hopes that he doesn't leave.

“Line up, Wolves! Let's see who's getting benched this season.” He revels in the groans of response, the sharp looks directed at Tristen from each member as they gear up for drills has something like satisfaction and pride form a smile on his face.

When he turns back around, Noah has a guilty twist to his lips and he's biting at the corner of his lip nervously, hands doing their best to hide in the comforts of his sleeves.

“I should go,” He says regretfully, sounding as if he is embarrassed. “I'll see you, Zander.”

He walks off with a weak smile and a tug of his hand so Zander's fingers slip from their hold on his jacket, shoulders raised to his ears.

Zander watches after him, until he is no more than a spot in the distance, and only then does he let out a bone deep sigh.

“ _Cut! Let's wrap it up - great first day, everyone!_ ” Marv calls out, pleased. Zayn turns his head quick to where the director is speaking over Liam's shoulder, pointing at something on the camera's screen.

He hadn't even _known_ they were still filming, then again, maybe the cold has gotten to his brain and he's imagined the whole thing. His subconscious rolls it's eyes and pointedly looks to the set of clothes in his hands as further proof.

When he hears the soft thud of shoes hitting against the cold ground, he turns to see Louis jogging over to him with Liam's jacket swallowing him up in its warmth. It’s at least two sizes too big for him and comes down to the middle of his thighs, making him look as if he hasn't gotten any shorts on underneath.

His teeth clatter together as he speaks, “Think this cold has paralyzed my feet, feel like I'm walking on cinder blocks.” He sends a glare down to his shoes, wincing as he attempts to wriggle his toes.

“M’gonna go thaw my body out,” Louis says with a grimace. “Should I stop by later or expect you to sleep today’s work off?” He asks. Usually, Zayn likes to take a nap after work, the couch in his trailer only adding to the fatigue in his bones. He’d been thinking about his bed all morning, wanting nothing more than to just shut out the cold with the fluffy duvet filled with feathers that Louis insisted he’d buy and wake up ways later, when the sun has bid farewell and the dark of the night comes to welcome him with twinkling stars like a smile.

That was before his nap in the trailer, though.

“Actually not all that tired,” He says in wonder, pursing his lips when the thought sets in. “I feel like, refreshed - which never happens on that block of wood. Guess it really is a new start with the season.” He laughs it off, scratching behind his ear in a nervous tick.

Louis looks surprised by his admission, but thankfully doesn't press for an explanation. He holds his fist out for Zayn to bump, and then he's meeting up with Liam off the field, their arms sliding around each other naturally.

He doesn't see Niall when he gets back to his trailer, opting to just leave on the track suit in favor of changing his clothes entirely. Noah’s outfit is hanging in the small bathroom on one of the various hooks on the wall, two different cans of hairspray added to his collection on the sink.

Niall is nowhere to be seen, his folder and orange absent from the table and the couch seems to gloom in abandonment. Zayn decides that the best plan for him right now is to get as far away from the set as he can, his mind suffocating in thoughts of lavender and blond fluff. He's almost relieved when there is no coffee cup left for him.

He takes his time leaving the parking lot; smoking on a cigarette while he leans against his car, breathing in the heavy cold air and exhaling his nerves in a cloud of white smoke.

Despite his earlier words to Louis, when he gets back to his apartment, he curls up on the soft cushioned couch in front of the television and wills his body to relax enough for a short nap. He can usually fall asleep the second his limbs sink into the comfortable sofa, though this time - this time is different. It feels wrong and he kicks his legs against the armrest as he ignores the more reasonable part of him trying to tell him why that is.

With a huff, he rolls off of the couch and picks up one of the many books on the coffee table, focusing his mind on a world of fantasy instead of his world of confusion and unwarranted feelings.

The next morning, Niall arrives to work with two brown paper bags and hands one over to Zayn, along with a welcoming travel mug of coffee. His name is written on the bag, frilly handwriting with a curl at the end. Zayn tries to politely decline, feeling odd accepting gifts from someone he's only heard stories about. Niall cuts him off with a look that's sharp and makes him recoil a bit.

“Have some mercy for the poor boy, it's not everyday he gets to feed his idol.” Niall says seriously and with a hint of sympathy for his apparent life partner. Zayn accepts the gift of food with only a squidge of guilt stuck like paste to his rib cage. He doesn't remember the last time he's had a meal that didn’t require hot water and a microwave.

Zayn actually looks forward to lunch call that day, nailing each of his scenes with a newfound determination he pins on the fresh coffee washing through his system.

Niall puckers his lips at the celery sticks Harry packed in their lunches, along with a small container of peanut butter for dipping. Zayn fails to hide his amused laugh at the look of disdain on Niall’s face. Niall bites off a piece of the celery with a playful scowl directed at Zayn, trying to distract him by pinching at his thighs and swiping peanut butter across his cheek and a dab on his nose. Zayn’s laughing so hard that he can't intercept Niall's grabby hands fast enough before he's shoving a piece of Zayn's grilled chicken with fresh strawberry jam, which is surprisingly delicious, into his mouth with an obnoxious grin.

He ignores the gleeful expression on Louis’ face as he watches the two of them, reminding himself as Louis plays with Liam’s fingers, that if they can overlook their feelings for each other, then Zayn can sure as hell disregard his own.

On the third day, they pull the couch out.

It was a mutual agreement, silent as it may have been, after the awkward encounter of Niall accidentally knocking Zayn off of the couch had left them both red in the face and breathless, but also had their limbs dragging for the rest of their scenes that day.

It's nice to have some personal sleeping space, he tells himself so he doesn't do something dumb, like miss the way Niall’s hand would be a tight hold on his stomach while he snoozed, or the way he would stroke his fingers along the exposed skin at his hip as his breathing got heavy and he’d drift off into sleep, as if the gesture comforted him as much as it did Zayn.

When his alarm goes off, vibrating somewhere by his feet, he’s not all that surprised to find that somehow during their nap, him and Niall have ended up cuddling in the middle of the pulled out sofa, Niall’s face mushed in the crook of Zayn’s shoulder. His rough, calloused fingers have slipped underneath the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, sending flicks of fire throughout his tummy when they shift with each deep breath he takes.

Normally, Zayn would have been en route to the bathroom the second his brain was awake, but - well, he's comfortable. And it's so cold outside, he can hear the wind whistling outside the window. He keeps his eyes closed, letting a sigh ease through his chest and settles deeper into the hard surface that feels like a pile of cotton at the moment.

He's just at that tipping point of sleep, when a socked foot wedges between his ankles and the arm slung across his waist tightens into a firm hold.

“You're gonna be late,” Niall mumbles sleepily against his neck. “And Noah is waiting impatiently for his new pair of glasses.” He shifts his foot, sliding against Zayn’s bare legs, fingers tapping at his belly.

“Zander in’t mean to break em’.” He murmurs, not awake enough for coherent sentences. It's silent for another minute, Niall letting out a bone deep sigh, nuzzling against Zayn as if there is any more space left between them.

“You’ve gotta get to set,” Niall reminds him, sounding regretful but insistent. He starts to stroke his hand over the soft skin of Zayn’s belly, hooking their ankles together and breathing out against the sensitive part behind his ear. Every few seconds, he’ll press his palm against his stomach muscles, seeming to just mold himself against Zayn’s back, and then he'll go back to lightly tracing his fingers along his torso.

“You're not really helping with that.” Zayn groans, a whine pinched at the end. Niall's hand stills, open palmed and low on his stomach, the width of his hand nearly enough to cover his entire waist. He brings his hand back to himself, slowly, fingers skimming across his skin like little raindrops of electricity. Zayn instantly feels colder without Niall’s warmth draped across him, but he can feel the wide smile that Niall presses into his neck, and suddenly, he feels as if he had drank four cups of coffee - veins igniting in a live wire.

Zayn’s never let anyone outside of his immediate family hug him - besides Louis that one time. But, somehow Niall manages to cling on to him without him even noticing. Well, he notices - but he doesn't really mind.

On the fifth day, Niall invites him over to his apartment to watch the season premiere of the show that night. Zayn makes a face at the proposal, pre-embarrassment already making his hands clammy at the thought of watching himself acting as another person. Niall’s persistent though, rambling on about all of the food that Harry is sure to make.

“You haven't _lived_ until you’ve tried Harry’s famous chocolate hazelnut cookies.” Niall gushes, clutching a hand to Zayn’s arm.

They’re in the trailer, eating take away chinese at the tiny kitchen table. Niall showed up to the set with an apologetic smile on his wind flushed face, as well as a name brand coffee mug.

The scene they just had together took a bit longer than what was expected, the two of them starting up a silent competition of who could break the others concentration first.

“That's not really - my thing,” He washes down the nerves hiking their way up his throat with the strawberry lemonade they got from the cafeteria. Niall stops chewing, tilting his head to the side in quiet amusement.

“That’s alright,” Niall says, scrunching his nose up. “Harry can make just about anything - cupcakes, brownies, these cinnamon apple snack bars that are - _mmmm_ ,” Niall smacks his lips together with a moan, and Zayn slowly lowers the napkin from his mouth, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“No that's - I meant that I don't actually like, _watch_ the show.” He clarifies and Niall’s sugar glazed eyes turn into that of burnt sugar.

“You’ve never watched the show?” Niall frowns. “That's not - no, that's unacceptable. I refuse to believe that you have not watched a single episode of the best show in t’ world.” His arms are crossed against his chest now, face serious and eyes narrowed in disbelief.

It doesn't take much convincing for Zayn to accept Niall’s invite. He feels better about the whole impending situation after Niall had praised the show to the highest of the heavens, leaning in close to make sure Zayn knew he meant each and every compliment.

Zayn doesn't tell Niall that the only reason he's never watched the show before was because no one had ever made a big deal out of it. Not until Niall, of course.

Liam and Louis get invites as well, which eases Zayn's nerves only a little. He feels equivalent to meeting the parents for the first time, groaning into his hands while the stage crew set up for the next scene. Louis’ not even phased by Zayn's worrying, picking at his hair in the small mirror he had put in his gym locker, twirling his finger around the loop that is Tristen's signature hair style.

“If what Niall says is true, then the guy has already picked out which flowers are going to be at your wedding.” He says with a hint of teasing, glancing past the metal door of the locker to where Zayn is sulking on the bench.

Zayn looks up from his slouched position, fingers nervously pinching the bottom of his shorts.

“But, what if he really only likes Zander though?” He questions, fixing his stare on a small scratch on a nearby locker.

“What if I say something stupid - or like, don't say anything at all?” It’s odd, knowing all of these random facts and stories of another person and having a connection with them through baked goods, but not even knowing what color their eyes are or how their laugh sounds.

“Should I bring something? I mean, he's been providing me with lunch for like - a week, maybe I could cook him something.” He ponders, though he knows that it's an implausible thought.

“You don't gift the chef with _food_ ,” Louis dismisses. “You bring him wine and thank him for feeding you - only god knows what kind of junk you've been living off of for the last two years.” He pokes, but there's a softness to his voice that makes the comment roll of of Zayn's shoulders like butter.

He still doesn't feel level with the situation, but he supposes that he's just going to have to roll with the punches and attempt to tame the belly sick butterflies fluttering somewhere near his ribs.

Liam comes around the corner, sneaking up behind Louis, pressing a finger against his lips with keen eyes that remind Zayn of rich coffee and young love. His smile only grows more brilliant with each careful step he takes towards the oblivious boy, and once he gets his strong arms wrapped snug around his waist, Louis widens his eyes in a moment of panic before deflating against the camera man's chest.

In that moment, with Liam whispering words derived from a grin into Louis’ hair - Zayn thinks about Niall’s earlier comparison of the couple to that of Morticia and Gomez Addams’. His voice had gotten eerily serious as he recited the words - " _I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way, what bliss._ ” Zayn had felt like he was falling off of a cliff.

Niall's smile was similar to the one Liam brushes against Louis’ ear as he speaks, straightening out a few flyaway hairs in the small mirror while Louis relaxes into his touch.

_Season Two, Episode Three: The Start of a Pack_

Niall’s waiting for him in the parking lot after Marv calls it a day, leaning against his car while twirling his key chain around his fingers. He’s smiling at every person that passes, waving to the ones he's already met.

The smile Niall offers him is like a meteor shower compared to the others, and it makes his world flip for a second, swaying in his path to Niall's car.

Zayn kills the cigarette he’d hastily lit up as soon as he had changed out of his varsity jacket and into a pair of well-worn dark jeans and a white t shirt, layered with his favorite leather jacket that has a rip in the shoulder and the scent of seven years of cigarette smoke stitched into the seams.

“Ow-ow!” Niall whistles, grinning wide as he looks him up and down exaggeratedly. “Tell me about it, stud!” He laughs, loud enough to carry across the empty parking lot, clapping his hands together when Zayn pouts his lips and sticks his chest out.

“Legend,” Niall shakes his head fondly, sliding his propped foot from the side of the car. “C’mon, I told Harry we’d be there in an hour and I can't wait to see his face when we show up early.”

As Niall slides into the driver’s seat, Zayn says, “Oh, I've got to uhm - I can just meet you there. Was gonna swing by the apartment and pick up a few things.” He waves it off, hoping that Niall can't see the nerves shaking through his fingers.

“If I remember correctly, i have a raincheck for a tour of my choosing.” Niall says like he has possession of a golden ticket. “‘Still haven't seen much of the area since I've moved here.”

He shrugs as if it's a light hearted suggestion, but the hopeful tilt at the end has Zayn already mapping out the longest route to his apartment.

“I mean-” Niall says. “If you really do want to drive yourself, no pressure. But, I've got good music and a dozen salted caramel marshmallow cookies to share.” He offers with a smile, hands ready at the ignition.

“I only live up the road, like.” Zayn says. He's quick to react though, when Niall's smile starts to dim. “I can text Louis, tell him to take my car. He's got a spare.” The tight ball of anxiety wedged in his chest is worth it for the cheeky grin Niall offers him at that.

The short ride to his apartment consists of Zayn mentally going over all the things he wanted to bring with him while Niall focuses on the road and taps a beat out on the steering wheel with his hands.

Once Zayn has retrieved his bag full of goodies from his apartment and they have pulled out of the complex, he lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back into the leather seat and smiling at the sight of Niall nodding his head along to the song playing from the radio.

Niall seems in his element when he's driving, face calm and voice soft as he mumbles along to the radio. Zayn finds himself watching Niall the entire ride, until they pull into a large apartment complex with a broken street lamp greeting their arrival.

He doesn't seem bothered by the angry looking woman watching them as they make way up the concrete stairs, nor the pieces of glass scattered about the floor.

Niall stops in front of a door with a smiley face carved into the wood, jiggling the handle this way and that until the key clicks into place and he huffs out a breath as he pushes the door open and waves Zayn inside.

“We’re home!” He calls out, dropping his keys into the basket filled with spare change and opened tubes of chapstick.

Despite the grungy appearance of the complex, the apartment holds a somewhat hipster vibe, clean and oddly calming with the smell of bananas and cinnamon wafting through the space and candles light the room in flickers of golden light.

“ _Sweet Cinnamon Cupcakes!_ ” A voice sings from somewhere ahead, where he presumes the kitchen to be.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that in front of company.” Niall sings back, amused smile playing at his lips though the blush that accompanies it holds some truth behind his roommate’s words.

A boy with very long and toned legs, as visible by his very short yellow shorts, walks into the room carrying a plate of cupcakes. He’s shirtless, mess of tattoos scattered across sun kissed skin, a pair of rainbow toe socks rolled down to the ankle. His curly brunette hair is held back into a messy half bun, showcasing his bright green eyes and eager grin that seems to melt the more Zayn is held captive by it.

It’s not a sight Zayn ever thought he would see. The pictures that Zayn had painted in his head from Niall’s stories, he expected someone a little less - perfect, in the oddest way.

“Oh for - _Harold_ ,” Niall snaps his fingers, dip in his eyebrows as his face pouts. “I asked you for _one thing_ before i left. Do you remember what it was?” His face looks less angry and more like he’s scolding a child. Zayn feels kind of bad for the poor guy who looks down at his cupcakes with a defeated sigh.

“To wear clothes while there are people over.” He grumbles, picking at some flakes of coconut on the plate.

“At least put a shirt on - i got you a pack of t shirts to use while you bake.” Niall says. Zayn focuses on the pretty desserts just within reach, the coconut covered cream seeming to sparkle in the light.

“It gets hot in the kitchen, i don’t want to sweat in them.” The way his fingers trace around the plate absently and the softness to his voice tells Zayn that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“Now, how about _you_ stop being impolite and introduce me to your guest.” He straightens up a little bit, back to his confident stance. Zayn finds it difficult to believe that this is the same guy who took six shots back to back before his pastry final in college.

The two of them hold each other’s stare for a long minute. Harry with a lifted eyebrow and charming smile breaking across his lips, and Niall with a truly unimpressed blank stare that would be amusing if it wasn’t so bored.

“Zayn, this is my idiot roommate who can’t walk in a straight line sober but can make magic with a stick of butter and a watermelon - Chef Harry Styles.” Niall presents, voice taking a tone at the end that one would use for royalty. Harry’s eyes dance in luminous light as he watches Niall with so much fond, Zayn’s sure he bleeds sugar.

“Harry,” His voice turns light, as if he’s tap dancing on thin ice. “This is my co-worker, Zayn. _Harry_ -”

“Hello, Harry Styles - Master's Degree in Baking and Pastry Arts.” Harry cuts in, completely disregarding his roommate, who rolls his eyes and busies himself with hanging his jacket on the rack and putting his script on the small coffee table that has a paisley printed throw covering it.

“As one would put it in sweeter terms, i am a _Master Baker_.” Harry says in this slow drawl, Zayn has to blink to stop himself from falling. He smiles, shakes Harry’s hand because despite the blatant sexual comment, Zayn can see himself enjoying the boy’s presence.

“You are _insatiable_.” Niall says from where he is retrieving an odd amount of beer bottles from the refrigerator. As he passes through to the living room, he knocks into his roommate with purpose, shuffling between the two of them to deposit the beverages on the table.

“Zayn Malik.” He introduces himself, letting Harry's fingers slip from his with reluctance. He didn't think that he would feel so comfortable around - well, _people_.

Harry grins, a shine in his eyes. “Yeah, you _are_ Zayn Malik aren't ya? Shit, I feel like I'm dreaming.” He fans himself with exaggeration.

“Keep your fantasies to yourself, Harold. Nobody wants to hear that disgusting shite.” Niall grumbles from the couch. Zayn doesn't want to think it, but his subconcious blows a stream of smoke at him that transforms into the word _jealousy_.

“I uhm, I wasn't sure what to bring-” He holds the plastic bag out to Harry, looking into the contents as he speaks in a nervous voice.

“Louis said no food, though to be honest I can't even make ramen without like, burning the water.” He says, but hurries to explain the items he brought for the boy. “Niall told me you're a huge fan of the show, yeah? So, look- I brought you some stuff from the show. Just and official Wolves hoodie and sweats, a signed poster of the cast and crew-”

“Niall, _Niall_ check my heartbeat.” Harry says abruptly which makes Zayn’s head snap up to him quick. “I think I've just flat lined.”

“Stop scaring the poor lad and bring them cupcakes over here, will ya?” Niall rubs his hands together in giddy anticipation, leaning back against the couch so that his tummy rises and falls visibly with each breath. He raises his eyebrows at his roommate pointedly, who watches on with slightly narrowed eyes. He smiles charmingly at Zayn as he takes the bag from him, grinning down at his new possessions.

With as much maturity as possible, Harry sticks his tongue out at Niall before surrendering the sweets on top of his stomach, taking one of the cupcakes for himself. Niall looks over to where Zayn is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room and pats the spot next to him on the couch. Once Zayn is seated comfortably next to him, Niall passes him a cupcake, taking a large bite out of his own, coconut shavings falling down his chest.

“Hazza, you have done it again.” Niall says sweetly. “What’s in this? No wait, let me guess.” He chews thoughtfully, looking at the half eaten cupcake in his hand in wonder. Harry smiles from where he is sitting on the vintage looking recliner, now wearing a loose white t shirt, watching Niall with laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Vanilla,” Niall says slowly. “Pineapples, peaches, cinnamon - and,” He scrunches his face up, licking at his lips and pursing his lips together. “Something salty, what is that?”

Harry grins, eyes hooded in amusement. “Bacon.”

Zayn looks over at Harry mid-bite, lips twisting in mild disgust.

“Amazing.” Niall compliments, finishing off the cupcake and immediately starting on a second. “Let’s get this thing going, we’ve got four hours until the premiere - just enough time to binge watch an entire season.”

Harry claps his hands together excitedly, jumping to his feet with surprising grace and bouncing over to where the dvd’s are kept next to the television stand.

They don't move from the living room for the time of their marathon except to use the bathroom and when Niall goes to refresh their beers. Zayn remains curled at the end of the couch, socked clad toes tucked snug and warm beneath Niall’s thigh.

Zayn can feel when Harry looks over to him for his reaction to certain parts, mainly everytime Tristen and Meg are shown sneaking behind Zander's back, falling in love with each other while Zander falls apart by himself, as if that betrayal belonged to Zayn.

He's finished his third beer and is feeling blissfully tipsy and lazy when the last episode starts. Niall and Harry shout at the tv and tease him with overly suggestive comments about his on-screen character. It distracts him enough that he doesn't cringe with each rehearsed line coming out of his mouth.

He relaxes back into the couch, shoving his feet more firmly under the denim heated skin. A few minutes pass, and Niall rubs at the sensitive part on his ankle with the lightest touch before moving his hand back to his lap.

“So, what did you think?” Harry asks eagerly, despite the tears pooling in his eyes. He stands up, stretching his long limbs with a satisfied groan.

“Uhm, that was weird like, but it was cool, I guess.” Zayn says. He wiggles his toes, wanting a little bit of Niall’s attention after nearly four hours of engrossed silence and light ankle patting.

“I'm gonna go check up on the fajitas - clean up these bottles, will ya?” Harry grips Niall's arm as he passes, wiping at his eyes once more before disappearing into the kitchen.

Niall goes to pick up the collection of bottles scattered about the table and floor, taking them to the recycle bin at the doorway of the kitchen.

“This the script?” Zayn asks, more so as permission to look at it rather than confirmation. He sits up on the couch, tucking one foot beneath himself. Niall waves him on as he takes the seat next to him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch behind Zayn’s head.

The cover page is always plain and simple; _Niall Horan_ centered in the middle in bolded text, “ _Noah James_ ” set in skinny italics just below that, and _Season 2, Episode 4: ‘Kiss Of The Wolf_ ’ printed a few lines down.

He flips through the pages, past the gym scene with Louis, as well as minor parts here and there, until he comes across a scene where he is in.

They read the dialogue together, the scene set on the practice field after all the other teammates have left for home, Zander cleaning up spare equipment and water bottles.

It's when the line, _Zander starts to lean closer, Noah showing no signs of rejection_ , that Zayn gets the idea of where this is going.

He feels his mood deflate when he realizes that the first time he kisses Niall is going to be for the cameras purpose only.

“M’gonna go for a smoke,” He mumbles, dropping the papers back on the table as he stands for the door.

Niall doesn't follow him out, but he does just see the beginning of a frown and a head peeking around the kitchen doorway before he shuts the door behind himself.

He’s halfway through his second cigarette, leaning over the chipped balcony rail and staring absently out across the early evening parking lot, when Niall steps out of the apartment and closes the door behind himself.

He doesn't speak until Zayn flicks the butt of the finished cigarette into a large bush down below, voice cautious and even.

“I get if you think it's too soon for them, some like the romance and the flowers,” Niall says. “Or if, ya know, you don't wanna kiss me - I would understand that too.”

Zayn pauses in lighting up a third stick, looking over his shoulder to see Niall watching him with leveled eyes.

“Niall-” He pockets the lighter, cupping the unlit cigarette in his palm. He turns, leaning back against the railing and matching Niall's look with his own serious one.

There is no other person occupying the floor, the silence between them loud and stiff. Zayn breathes deeply through his nose, limbs feeling featherlight and loose. He sees a twitch in Niall's lips that spurs him into explaining.

“Zander had his first kiss before i did, well, one that counted.” He says. It feels as if Niall is a thousand miles away from him, face too somber and uncharacteristically sad, Zayn pushes himself a step away from the railing.

“He's always been better at sports and socializing and just knows what he's doing-” He takes a breath, focusing on the way the setting sun seems to enhance Niall’s brightness, making him almost golden.

“I can’t even _talk_ to fans properly, let alone thank them for all the support they have given me.” He says bitterly. “I get so nervous and I know they must think I'm some unappreciative _prick_ -”

“Your fans love you.” Niall says, even and sure of his words. Zayn shakes his head, feeling just the right amount of tipsy to be spilling all of this to him.

“Zander always just _knows_ what to say and I can’t even talk to you without like,” He starts to trip over his words, shaking his head with a self deprecating laugh.

“I've always felt second best when it came to Zander. He's like this, this better version of me.” He lets out a sigh, finding himself stepping closer to where Niall is.

“He's always gotten what I wanted and he's always seem to do it one step better-” He stops, fingering at the cigarette in his palm and looks up at Niall with a weak smile.

“When I met you, the first day of shooting, it was like - like I _knew_ my life was about to change. You're just so _bright_. Everything about you shines.” He smiles, thinking back to the day.

“And then I find out that you're his boyfriend and I just like, I kind of felt like I've lost. I thought it would be better to just surrender before I lost the war, but-” He's standing right in front of Niall now, nearly toe to toe.

“But then I got to know you, and you just, you're so-” He pauses, licks his lips. Niall looks a mix of intrigued and confused.

“You talk about your friends as if they hung the moon. Like, I could tell you all of Harry's favorite spices in alphabetical order or why Security Guard Josh has a scar on his arm.” He says, amazed.

“You talk like, _a lot_. But you're always listening and you make it feel as if even if I wasn't saying anything, you would still listen. How do you do that.” It’s a rhetorical question, of course. If someone asked him to describe Niall in three words, he would simply say, ‘ _that's not possible_.’  
  
“You have freckles, like _everywhere_. But like, there's one right-” He brings his hand up to poke at the side of Niall's neck, right below his hard jaw line and Niall visibly swallows. “ _There_ , and when they do your make up for Noah,” He squeezes the name out like the last dollop of toothpaste. “They always cover it up.”

He's staring at the where his thumb is hovering over his favorite freckle when Niall speaks in a soft voice.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks and Zayn meets his eyes with a nod. “Zander's kind of an ass hole.” He says and the both of them let out drunken laughs at that.

“No, look. Zander may have a few things going for him, but it's no comparison to you, Zayn.” Niall says, looking at him with wide, honest eyes.

“You intrigue me to no end. You're so talented and you don't even see it.” Niall says, tentatively bringing a hand to Zayn’s hip. “Your mind is as beautiful as the rest of you, the way you know what you want to say and you may think that you don't make any sense, but Zayn- you have a way with your words that make me want to write a song with them.”

It seems as if both of their eyes shift to each other's lips at the same time, leaning their heads forward until Zayn can feel Niall's breath on his lips. He slides his hand to cup around the side of Niall's neck, thumb resting over the freckle.

When their lips meet, it starts off hesitant, like the first time they met. They smile against each others mouths before pressing more firmly against each other, Niall's fingers gripping onto his hip and bringing him closer.

Zayn was already a little breathless while Niall was talking, so when his chest starts to tighten with lack of air flow, he breathes in through his nose deeply and when he breathes out, he opens his mouth against Niall's and licks at the seam of his lips.

Niall opens up to the kiss like everything else in life - giddy and laughing, though he doesn't try to push things faster than they are going.

Kissing Niall is soft. It’s heavy in the way Niall’s hand on his thin hip seems to control most of his body. There's calm in the way that he can lose himself in the kiss, forgetting about his stress and embraces Niall's tranquility. With the bold there is steady.

Kissing Niall is blue.

Niall's fingers make their way to wrap around his back, supporting the both of them against the door. He deepens the kiss with the hold he has on the back of Niall's neck, humming in complete bliss and letting it slow to a final nip to the boy's bottom lip.

He rests his forehead against Niall's, eyes closed and jagged breaths mingling together.

“Tell Zander he can suck it.” Niall breathes out, kissing Zayn’s cheek with a lingering touch of his lips.

They walk back into the apartment with secret smiles and linked pinky fingers, toasting a fresh bottle of beer to the sounds of Harry making fajitas in the kitchen.

Liam and Louis arrive to the party while in the middle of an argument which mainly consists of Louis using big, complicated words that do not exist in the camera man's vocabulary just to provoke him.

Niall nudges him in the side, sending him a wink before he calls over the couch. “Hey, H.” He waits for Harry to walk into the living room, hair now pulled tight into a bun at the top of his head.

“What was that quote you love so much from The Notebook?” He asks sweetly.

Harry beams, clapping his hands together with a dreamy smile. “ _They didn’t agree on much. In fact, they didn’t agree on anything. They fought all the time and challenged each other ever day.”_

  
Niall looks over at Zayn before cutting his eyes over to where Louis and Liam are huddled close against the door, seeming to be speaking to each other's mouths, if they're even talking at all.

“ _But despite their differences, they had one important thing in common. They were crazy about each other._ ” Harry recites with flourish, retreating back to the kitchen where a timer dings.

Zayn hasn't taken his eyes off of Niall during Harry's speaking, smiling at the way Niall watches the couple with fondness.

They eat in front of the television, Louis sitting sideways across Liam's lap due to lack of seating. Harry glows in the praises he receives of the delicious food; steak fajitas with roasted potatoes and spiced lemon green beans, a light red wine to highlight the flavor.

When the opening credits to the show start, Louis and Niall start cheering, making the nerves start to climb through Zayn’s body.

Harry's at the edge of his chair, half of a green bean hanging out of his mouth, watching the screen intently.

“Such good camera work.” He hears Louis say once there's a flattering close up of Tristen's scowling face.

“You know,” Niall says. “I kind of get where Tristen is coming from. He's loved Meg since the first day of school, I mean yeah, he should have told Zander before it got too messy, but he's always put his best friend first.”

Harry gasps, offended. “What Tristen did was unjustifiable, Niall. He shouldn't have gone after a girl who was taken, by his best friend at that. Team Zander all the way.” Harry reaches his arm over to Zayn for a high five, but Zayn just tangles their fingers with a warm smile and lowers their hands.

“I agree with Niall, actually. Tristen's always loved Meg and Zander will realize that soon enough once the hurt wears off.” Zayn says.

“Traitor.” Harry glares, sitting back with his glass of wine.

It's when Noah finally arrives that Harry nearly chokes on his sip of wine, squealing with his mouth closed and looks about ready to cry.

Zayn's actually surprised by how natural it seems to be for the on-screen couple, similar yet different to his it is with himself and Niall.

When he looks over, Niall is smiling down at his phone, the backlight putting a spotlight on his giddiness.

“Look at this,” Niall says when he sees Zayn looking over at his phone. He angles the screen at him, watching his reaction.

It looks like a list with hashtagged words or sentences. At the very top, next to the number one reads #ZOAH. Underneath says there are seven hundred thousand tweets about the topic.

“What is that?” He asks, gesturing to the list. He's never been one for social media, not wanting to see all that he's missing back home.

“Twitter.” Niall says, clicking on the top subject. It opens up to a endless scrolling of posted messages, all talking about the couple on screen.

“You have one, you know.” Niall says but he shakes his head, eyes wide with the amount of love the internet seems to have for the two boys. Niall clicks out of the messages, typing something into the search bar and then handing the phone to Zayn.

@zaynmalik it reads along with an empty profile and five hundred and seventy three thousand followers.

“Woah.” He says.

“We can get your profile set up and then you can talk to the fans online, rather than in person.” Niall says quietly, the sound of Tristen and Meg’s voices drowning out their conversation from the rest of the group.

Zayn watches as Niall sets him up a profile, using a picture he picked out online and adding a green filter, writing him a short bio with something quotes from a Disney movie, he's sure.

Harry goes to the kitchen to grab the white chocolate raspberry sherbet he made from scratch and returns with wild eyes, preparing himself for the rest of the show.

Once Niall has finished the profile, he brings up a blank message and types out a simple word slowly, giving Zayn time to object.

Zayn reaches over and hits the tweet button, seeing #ZOAH as his first and only tweet. He feels oddly proud.

“They should name the baby Gretta, if it's a girl.” Liam muses, which earns him a disgruntled _what are you talking about_ from Louis.

“I like the name Sky for a baby, I think.” Harry says thoughtfully as if he's just had a breakthrough.

“Of course you would name a baby something so mundane. They should name the baby King or after this wine because it is worth being named after.” Louis grins, to which Harry matches it with his own large smile. A moment seems to pass between the two before they break gaze from each other bashfully.

Niall and Zayn spend the rest of the evening tweeting with their over excited fans and giggling into each other's necks while the remaining three tiptoe around each other with flirty smiles and prolonged touches.

It's when Zayn is reluctantly saying goodbye to Niall- Louis and Liam are talking about something or another, their voices interrupting the other the ks to the copious amount aid alcohol they split with Harry, making Zayn the designated driver home.

It’s like they both go to lean in to hear the other better at the same time and there's a brief press of lips against lips and then both of their shocked faces pull back to stare at each other, drunkenly lost. A beat passes, until Liam pushes Louis in the arm playfully and bolts out the door, leaving a stunned Louis behind.

_Season Two, Episode Four; The Start Of Something(s)_

During the next week, Niall brings Harry along with him to the set. He's got three bag lunches clutched in one of his large hands, taking in the studio with marvel.

Liam shows him some things on his camera while the three actors have their makeup and wardrobe applied, wearing his backstage pass with pride.

He watches with Marv and the lighting crew while Zander and Noah have their first kiss, biting at his finger with excitement in his eyes.

When lunch call rolls around, Harry is dragging his feet, only having been picking at the vegetables from the craft table.

“Can I take a nap in your trailer and you come get me when it's time to go?” Harry asks Niall, pouting his lips and blinking his eyes slowly. Niall glances at Zayn from the corner of his eye, a silent question in them.

“You can sleep in my trailer.” Zayn offers, seeing Niall nod his head to himself with a relieved sigh.

Niall hasn’t said a word about the state of his trailer nor when he's planning on leaving Zayn's place of peace, but Zayn hasn't brought it up either.

He shows Harry where his trailer is and points out the fruit snacks and contents for PB&J in the cabinets, but Harry just heads straight for the pull out bed and flops down with a sleepy smile.

Throughout the rest of his scenes, Zayn’s subconscious sits with crossed arms and a pointed look, nagging him until the final scene for the day has been called.

He's waiting for Louis to finish fussing with his hair in the large mirror in the makeup room when Niall comes up to him with a bleary eyed Harry trailing behind.

Harry comes up behind Niall and hooks his chin over his shoulder, breathing in deep and sighing in content.

“Mmm, you smell like Zayn’s bed.” Harry says, which makes both Niall and himself lockup and look to each other with panicked looks.

Harry’s face scrunches when he takes another whiff, jerking his head back with confused, sleepy eyes.

“Or Zayn’s bed smells like _you_ , oh my-” Harry slaps his hands over his mouth, though there's no hiding the wide smile behind his palms.

“It was just until my trailer for fixed, okay- Harry, stop making a fuss out of things.” Niall says, flustered. He won't look at Zayn, cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

Harry holds his hands up defensively, meeting Louis’ amused smile in the mirror.

“Hey, I'm not judging. Where a man naps is his own privacy.” Harry teases.

Niall groans, grabbing Zayn’s wrist as he heads for the door. The sound of Louis and Harry's laughter spills out into the hallways as Niall leads them out of the studio and towards their shared trailer.

Niall releases his wrist once they make it to the trailer door, standing in the middle of the small space with his back to Zayn. Zayn slowly closes and locks the door, keeping his eyes on the tense set to Niall's shoulders, the thumb he brings to his mouth to bite at.

“Your trailer-” Zayn starts. “It’s finished, isn't it?” He asks, knowing the answer when Niall’s body deflates in defeat.

“PJ told me on Friday, I just- I don't know.” Niall says, slowly turning to face Zayn who is glued to the spot against the door.

“I hadn’t even realized it's been that long.” Zayn admits. “Just got caught up in the routine of it, I guess.” He says in a somber voice. It feels like the end to whatever they have set up here.

Niall bites at the side of his thumb, eyes dancing in anxiety.

“We were fine until someone brought it up.” Niall says, almost pleading.

“That's because I realized just how confusing it really is, it seemed almost normal when it's just us- but looking in from the outside, it's almost ridiculous.” Zayn says, breathing out a heavy breath.

The tension in the small room is thick with uncertainty and _something_ , but it snaps when Niall breaks out of his fidgeting and crowds Zayn against the door.

He doesn't let Zayn get a word out before he's bringing their mouths together, begging Zayn with his actions to stop _thinking_ and to just start _feeling_.

Zayn feels the light pouring in the kiss, clearing away the storm clouds. He melts against Niall's lips, his newfound stress reliever.

Niall’s hands come to rest at the waistband of Zayn’s jeans, thumbs pressing into the dips in his hips, slipping underneath the band of his boxers.

“Niall-” He hesitates, wondering if this is a good idea with the previous events. He doesn't want to ask, but he knows Niall can see the concern in his eyes, the are we moving too fast clear as day in his wide look.

Niall shakes his head, “Not asking you to marry me Zayn, just let me make you feel good.” He pulls back to see Zayn’s face properly and when Zayn finally nods his assent, Niall smiles into the kiss he brings Zayn back into, fingers easily popping the button on his jeans.

He kisses the corner of Zayn's mouth as he reaches his hand inside his jeans, sliding his warm hand over the length of him through his boxers. Zayn closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, trying to get control of himself before it's even started.

Once Niall has had a feel of him through the fabric, he nips at the underside of Zayn's jaw, working his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. Zayn swallows rough, feeling Niall's lips slide a path down his throat where his pulse is beating erratically.

When he opens his eyes briefly, he sees Niall slowly lowering himself to his knees, wincing at the hard floor and a steadying Zayn against the door with firm grips on his shaking thighs.

Niall takes him into his mouth easily, using the wet suction of his cheeks to harden Zayn up fully in his hold. He's eager in the way he closes his eyes and just lets himself go in the task at hand, working his hand over what he can't fit into his mouth.

Zayn tries to find purchase on the door for his restless hands, not sure if he wants to shrink back against the cold press of the door or thrust into the pleasure before him.

Niall trails his free hand up Zayn’s thigh, finding its way to Zayn's twitching hand and laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Zayn's eyes find Niall's when he looks down, nearly losing himself at the sight of Niall going down on him right there in the doorway of the trailer that has become their sanctuary.

Niall must feel the way his muscles lock tight when he he's close to finishing, pulling back until just the tip in rests against his tongue, hand jerking him off in fast strokes.

He cums with a loud moan that fills the space of the trailer, squeezing Niall's hand so tight, he can barely feel it in his own.

Niall wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, using Zayn’s legs as leverage to pull himself to a standing position. He pulls Zayn’s pants up for him, sliding the zipper up while pressing a kissing to the flushed skin of his cheek.

Niall grabs both of his hands, leading him over to the couch and once Zayn is laying spent next to him, he opens his arms for a cuddle, which Zayn happily wraps his arms around Niall's body and burrows his head against Niall's chest.

They lay in silence for a minute or two, until they both realize that the time for talking has come. Surprisingly, Zayn finds himself being the one to break the silence.

“What exactly are we?” He asks, speaking against the soft fabric of Niall's t-shirt. Niall hums, rubbing his hand along the expanse of Zayn's clothed back.

“I think- I think when you put a label on something, it loses its worth a little bit.” Niall considers. “I don't want to be put into one category with you, because I feel like that's not us. I just want to be with you and not put pressure on anything.”

Zayn smiles against his chest, “I like that. But if we're not gonna be boyfriends then what are we?” He asks, hopeful.

Niall ponders it over, wrapping his arm over Zayn's frame and stroking at his arm, thumb slipping beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

“Lovers.” Niall decides after a moment. Zayn says the word over and over in his head and Niall's smiling face matches the description perfectly.

Lovers. On-screen and off screen. Yeah, he can do that.

_Season Two, Episode Five; The Fall_

During a rainy Monday afternoon, Zayn sits among the bleachers in a purple Wolves hoodie with a piping hot to-go cup of coffee clutched between his hands, watching as the crew sets up for the dodgeball gym scene Niall and Louis are in.

Niall's wearing those tiny gym shorts again, stretching legs this way and that. Zayn takes a large gulp of the hot beverage instead of drooling over his love’s stretched body.

Niall waves to him with a shining smile, holding his arms up to flex exaggeratedly. Zayn pretends to swoon, throwing his head back with the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Niall's laugh bounces off the walls of the gym room, brightening the room that much more.

When Marc calls for everyone to take their places, Zayn places his mug of coffee on the floor next to his feet and leans forward on his elbows to watch the scene roll.

It starts with a whistle blown by the gym coach. The gym students make their ways to their respective sides of the divided court, six red dodge balls spaced out in a line down the middle. Noah and Tristen glare at each other, still not having found common ground because of their one subject of similarity, Zander.

Zayn watches on as Noah prepares for the whistle that that starts the game, Liam capturing the intense set to each of the players faces.

When the whistle screams, the boys lunge for the balls, retreating back to their sides to set their attacks.

Noah gets a ball, which has Zayn clapping his hands in excitement, not able to help himself. He hopes that he doesn't get in shot, he feels as if he looks how the weather is outside, dreary and cold.

Tristen doesn't get a ball, but he dodges two balls thrown at him back to back and his eyes cut to Noah like he’s prey.

Even from the top of the bleachers, Zayn can see the way Noah starts to doubt himself, eyes darting to each of the armed players. He shakily brings his arm back with the ball, unsure eyes aimed at Tristen.

Zayn shakes his legs, encouraging Noah under his breath to _just relax, you got this_. Noah tests his leverage, eyes narrowing in concentration.

It happens so fast, Zayn's not aware of what's happened for a few seconds.

The ball comes from across the court, an unsuspecting soldier on the opposing team. Noah's been too busy with Tristen to pay any mind to it, so when the ball cuts through the air like a blur and drills him right in the knee, the only thing heard around the gym is the loud smack of rubber against skin and Niall's shriek of pain before he falls to the ground.

Zayn's on his feet in an instant, sprinting down the bleachers with a racing heart and Niall's groans in his ears.

He gets to Niall's side right before the Med-Aids do, taking his clenched hand into his own, looking over his hurt body with no clue as to how to help him.

“Zayn-” Niall groans. “My knee, I can’t- _please_.” He curls into himself, sobs jumping through his chest. Zayn doesn't even think, just scoops Niall's injured body into his arms, Niall's arms clutching right around his neck, sniffling into his neck. The Med-Aids usher him to an awaiting ambulance just outside the doors of the studio.

They help him lay Niall on a stretcher, allowing him to ride alongside of him when they see that Niall showed no signs of letting Zayn's hand go.

The paramedics hook Niall up to various machines and IV’s, pushing some type of medication through his system that makes his chest deflate on a sigh and his hand to fall limp in Zayn's.

Only once they have checked Niall's vital signs and have the all clear from the paramedics do they finally leave for the hospital. Zayn plays with Niall’s fingers the ride there, hating how he looks so peaceful laying in the back of an ambulance.

They take Niall's sated body through restricted double doors, leaving Zayn to stand there by himself, staring after where his light has been taken.

He calls Harry, more air than words coming out of his mouth, but he seems to get the gist, telling Zayn to _hold tight_ and _take some deep breaths_. Once the call has ended, he lugs his steel stiff legs over to the wall across from the restricted double doors and slides down against the wall, head dropping down to pillow in his arms.

If feels like an entire lifetime has passed by the time Harry arrives at the hospital, sliding down next to Zayn against the wall.

“Niall's tough, ya know?” Harry says confidently, letting his arm rest against Zayn's. He waits until Zayn turns his head towards him to continue, smiling at him comfortingly when he sees the tears stains down his cheeks.

“When Niall was eight, he fell from the jungle gym- broke his arm and a toe and dislocated his kneecap.” Harry says. He speaks in an even tone, eyes staring ahead at the double doors before them.

“When he was thirteen, he got tackled in a game of flag football, messing up all of his hard work at healing his knee into near perfect condition.” Harry frowns, eyes hollow.

“He never gives up though, always ready for the next step in making himself better. God, he's the strongest person I know-” Harry hiccups out a sob, lower lip quivering devastatingly.

Zayn lets him fall into his side, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. He rights himself after a few minutes of tears shed, pushing his palms against his watery eyes.

“Did Niall ever tell you how we met?” Harry asks. Zayn shakes his head with a frown, watching as Harry composes himself and stretches his long legs out in front of himself.

“I moved here from a small town in England, thinking I had my whole plan figured out. But, once I stepped foot off of familiar grounds, I realized just how _alone_ I was.” Harry says, though there's no lingering sadness to his voice.

“I’d slept in the street a handful of times, a few times in a booth at the back of a McDonald’s. I didn't have any money, I wasn't sure where I really was.” He shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

“One day, I was sitting on this curb by a bakery that always smelled so delicious it was enough for me to feel like I've eaten a full coarse meal. I had this beaten up ukulele that I’d found in a trashcan, could only play like four chords on it.” He laughs, memories playing across his lips.

“I wasn't even- I just wanted to feel something apart from hunger and exhaustion and loneliness, i just started singing to feel like I _wasn't_ alone. That someone was listening.”

“And then this boy just came over and say down next to me on this filthy curb, his high voice mixing with mine, singing with me, making me smile for the first time in _weeks_.” A tear escapes the pools in his eyes, brushed away by annoyed fingers.

“He asked me if I had a place to stay, I said no, and he took me home with him. Simple as that.” He shakes his head with a sad smile. “Simple as that.” He sighs.

He turns to Zayn then, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes lowering in fatigue.

“Niall is a strong person, cares more for someone in need than his own damn self. But- I think it's time someone takes care of him.” He gives Zayn this look, and Zayn nods, biting at his chewed bottom lip.

Harry gets up to find something caffeinated for the two of them, leaving Zayn with a heavier heart than he arrived with.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, wiping his eyes clear of their sadness and brings up the camera screen, switching to video. He looks at himself in the mirror image, letting out a stuttered breath before saying anything.

“Uhm, hey.” He starts awkwardly, never having done this befour. He wants to do this, wants to prove to himself that he can overcome his nerves for the sake of the boy somewhere behind those double doors.

“I'm uh, not really sure what to say. Just needed someone to talk to, I guess.” He mumbles, resting his chin on his propped knees.

“Niall's okay.” He says, nodding his head with a shake to his lips. “I know he is. He's strong. He's got a good heart.” He stares at his sad face on the screen, remembering the twisted grimace on Niall’s face seconds before they sedated him.

“He's got good support, you guys don't know how much he adores you. Even started calling you guys his wolf pact.” He smiles, a small one.

“Thank you for-, for being there. For caring about us when we need it.” He stays silent for a minute, staring at those dreaded doors.

“I don't say this nearly enough, but like, you guys mean alot to me. I don't know where I would be without you, but I'm gonna make sure I remind you guys more often how much I appreciate and love every single one of you.” He brings his fingers to his lips and presses them to the screen, sighing once before ending the video and uploading it to Twitter with the caption # _wolfpact_.

_Season Two, Episode Six; The End Of A Season_

Niall is granted five days of personal recovery time, during which he works with his physical therapist at strengthening his leg back to working condition. The tear in his muscle has been repaired, but the ache burning deep in his knee makes him since with every other step he takes.

Zayn shoots his scenes that don't involve Niall, feeling his concentration wavering each time he remembers where his on-screen companion is. Even Louis is somber around set, pouting each time someone so much a whispers Niall's name.

“I miss my Irish snowflake.” Louis had sulked, head plunked down on the lunch table, Liam rubbing a soothing hand along his back. Zayn watched them with curious eyes, wanting to know what the hell was even going on with them. Were they together? Were they just extremely fond of the other, or were they seriously just that dense?

When he brings the kiss-maybe-not-kiss, the two are quick to jump to an explanation.

Louis say, loudly, all the while staring at Liam, “It's like when you're in a club, you know, when it's too loud and you go and talk to your mate and you both lean in at the same time.” He gestures wildly with his hands, body angled completely towards the cameraman who nods his head like he's believing whatever Louis is babbling on about.

He decides on not trying to understand their relationship anymore.

When Niall finally arrives back to set, Zayn can't concentrate, reaching for Niall with every wince or sign of discomfort he makes. He's got a gaudy knee brace on. Marv has already written it in so that Noah will be hurt from an off screen incident. Zayn couldn't have been arsed enough to ask what the excuse was.

When it's time to do a scene between Noah and Zander, Zayn keeps losing his drive, eyes flicking back and forth between the knee brace over top of Noah's bright yellow skinnies and the tiredness to the boy's eyes.

“Sorry, can we run that again?” He asks guilty, wondering how many times he has to fuck up before Marv just lets him go home.

“ _Focus, Zander._ ” Marv says with impatience. He waves them on, scrunch in his bushy eyebrows.

“ _Action_!” Marv calls out.

“I've missed you.” Noah says sadly, bringing a hand up to mess with the fabric of Zander's open varsity jacket.

“I-,” He says, ball of nerves stuck in his throat like a bullet. He can't stop seeing the knee brace.

There's always been distinct difference between Niall and When he's fully transformed into Noah. But now with this _bridge_ between the two, Zayn can't tell up from down.

“I loved the flowers you got me,” Noah tries, pushing at his chest a little to knock him back into their world.

He can't do it.

His vision feels blurry, like there's two Niall's or maybe two Noah's, but it's more like a mix between the two. It’s this image of the two worlds colliding, not knowing if it's Niall's voice or Noah's voice asking him if he's alright.

Everything about the body in front of him shifts and blurs, besides the ever present knee brace.

He's running before he even knows what he's doing, pushing open the door to his trailer with harsh breaths, trying not to throw up.

When the door to the trailer opens a minute or several later, Zayn backs into the wall with wide eyes, feeling cornered by his worst fear.

He still has the glasses on, the loud outfit slightly wrinkled now and the ridiculous watch in his wrist taunts him and makes his stomach flip.

Niall stares back at him like he's a traumatized victim, holding out a hand as an attempt to calm him down.

“Hey, it's me.” Niall coos, taking a step into the trailer. Zayn bites his lip hard, hot tears filling his eyes.

Niall slowly takes off the glasses from his face, laying them on the side table without taking his eyes from Zayn.

“It’s me, Zayn.” He says a bit more firm, flicking the band of the watch and adding that next to the glasses on the table.

“This isn't about Noah, or Zander. This is you and me, Niall and Zayn.” He says slowly, taking another step closer.

He brings he fingers to the buttons on his cardigan, unbuttoning it and shrugging it off of his arms, holding it out to his side before dropping it onto the chair.

“It's me.” He says again, stripping the white undershirt over his head and tossing that in top of the discarded cardigan.

He takes cautious steps towards Zayn, who doesn't feel as if he's going to have a panic attack anymore, but he does feel heavy with some kind of feeling.

Niall stops once he's in front of Zayn, bringing his hands up to hover over his chest.

“Me and you.” He whispers.

Niall slowly removes the blue varsity jacket from his body, laying it carefully over the back of the chair.

“It's us. Nobody else.” Niall says, fingers cupping his strong jaw before they slide down to the hem of his shirt and steadily pulls it over his head, tossing it behind himself without looking.

“Beautiful, strong, smart, wonderful Zayn.” He sighs, lightly grabbing his hand and kissing the sensitive part at the inside of his wrist.

He unfastens the brace until he can wriggle out of the annoyingly tight jeans and secures it back into place around his knee, sighing as he stands up straight.

Zayn stares at him with a heavy gaze, Niall now only in his small black boxer briefs. Niall undoes his jeans with careful movements, taking time to feel Zayn and feel how he reacts to his touch.

“Niall-” He gasps and that spurs the start of the races, their mouths coming together in a hungry kiss. Niall helps him out of his jeans, not giving him a minute to catch his breath before he's kissing him again, sucking all the air from his lungs.

He grips at the top of Zayn's thighs, hooking his weak legs around his waist and pressing him up against the wall, kissing him like it's the last item on his bucket wish.

Zayn cries. He cries as he touches his fingers to Niall's cheeks, always blushing and smiling. He cries as he touches Niall's fevered skin, the hard muscle of his back protected with unbelievably soft skin.

His tears smear the makeup on Niall's face, foundation smeared across his palms. His tears wash away the shield covering his freckles, his favorite coming into view under his tear stained thumb.

He kisses the freckle. Kisses every freckle he can reach on Niall's face, neck, throat.

Niall walks them to the bed, laying Zayn down gently and hovering over top of him, keeping a form hold on him where his knee is folded over Niall's hip.

“Your knee-” Zayn says, but Niall cuts him off with a kiss.

“I'm fine. I have you.” He says. He doesn't smile, doesn't try to joke it off like everything else. His face is serious, eyes so blue it almost hurts to look at him.

When Zayn nods, Niall dips down to kiss him again, wasting no time in bringing their bodies together where they are hardest, rolling against Zayn in waves.

Zayn holds onto Niall's back as he uses the mixed saliva from their connected mouths to open Zayn apart on his fingers, whispering in his ear how _perfect_ he is and how much Niall _feels_ for him.

By the time Niall has stretched him wide enough, rolling a condom onto himself, Zayn lays there with deep breaths and a sense of silent urgency to be whole with the beautiful boy above him.

Niall pushes into him with an open mouth, a shiver shaking his body all the way down to his toes. He takes it slow, like he does with everything involving Zayn, pressing light kisses to his favorite spots on Zayn’s body.

When he shallowly starts to pull out and then push back in, Zayn wraps his legs around his waist and lays back and just feels.

“So good, love.” Niall praises, thrusting into Zayn at a leisure pace. It's astounding how much hotter everything is when they got at their own pace, almost like they can sense what the other wants or how they want it.

Loving Niall is clear. It's the feeling of pure bliss. The sense of being home, of coming home. Having someone at home waiting for you.

Niall whispers Zayn’s name unto his dampened skin, bringing a hand down to gradually stroke Zayn in time with his thrusts. Zayn’s toes curl on Niall's back.

Zayn cums with a choke off whimper, hugging Niall's body tight to him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and letting out a low shudder against the blonde’s ear, spurring him into his own orgasm.

Niall pants into his neck, arms locked tight around his lover's shoulders, Zayn's arms hugged around his waist.

“It's me,” Niall says against his neck. “It's me and I love you.”

-

The end of the season party is held in Niall's never once occupied trailer, all of the young actors shoved into the small area with loud thumping music and plenty of cheap alcohol.

Niall pulls Zayn down to sit on his lap, bringing his fourth bottle of beer up to Zayn’s second.

“Cheers, to being nominated for Best On-Screen Chemistry.” He says, clinking the lip of their bottles together and holding Zayn's gaze as he takes a swallow.

They lean in at the same time, meeting in the middle, which should be their slogan. They're so balanced with each other, yin and yang, light and dark.

Zayn smiles into the kiss, bringing his lips back and then ducking right back in to kiss at each corner of Niall's bright blue eyes.

He sits up, taking a swig of his drink, looking around at all of his friends and co-workers laughing and celebrating another successful season of Bradford Heights.

He spots Louis and Liam in their own corner, smiles pressed against each other's mouths, so lost in the other that they don't realize the world moving on around them.

Harry's the center of attention, having become a favorite around the set, organizing a way to do body shots across the narrow kitchen counter.

And then there's Niall, sweet lovely Niall, who thumbs at the skin on Zayn's hip and kisses his lips when he sees him smiling down at him and who Zayn is so fucking in love with.

Niall was right. Zander _can_ suck it, because Zayn loves having an on-screen boyfriend.


End file.
